Discreet
by Lapis Love
Summary: The calm before the storm, they never really knew what that actually felt like. It's two years later. What have Bonnie, Damon, and Stefan been up to and how exactly will their worlds collide? This is the sequel to Indiscretion.
1. Redux

**A/N: Hello, me again. So I'm not sure many were hoping for a sequel to this particular story, but well after some "prodding" I decided to give it a go. I do have a plot in mind, but I guess I'm going to see what interest is like before deciding if I will flesh this out into a full-fledged story.**

* * *

 _Two years after the aftermath_

 **New York City—November 2015**

WHY DID THINGS like this happen at the _end_ of a relationship? Why, when you're finally ready to move on from the person you thought you'd love forever and things didn't work out, life decided to throw the whole kitchen sink at you? Why did she ever believe and hope that the mountains that popped up in her life would level the hell out and let her catch her breath? Why did she think she could uproot her life (for love) and think it would make her feel secure and settled in who she was? Why did she think the universe was done having its way with her?

Bonnie Bennett had no answers and she knew she should have some answers. What, with being a psychologist and all. Alas, psychology was not birth control.

She tapped her nails on the double sink counter, waiting. Waiting for time to wind down on the clock and give her the results of her fate. Of _their_ fate. She wasn't alone in the bathroom, nor would she be alone in whatever came next, however she felt alone. Her possible baby daddy sat on the floor next to the door, quieter than he's ever been. Paler than she's ever seen him apart from those months searching for…her husband. Ex-husband now. Grim in features, in spirit, Damon Salvatore was here but he was a million miles away.

Anyone who knew their story (many did as it got leaked to a media source who then hunted them down and stalked them until lawyers were brought in), figured they'd run away the first chance they got and get married. Damon wanted to. Dropped enough hints to refurbish a condemned house. Bonnie had been on the same page, yet something niggled her. What if the same thing happened to Damon that happened to Stefan? What if he went on a trip, fell and bumped his head, lost his memory? Damon traveled a lot for work, often going overseas, leaving Bonnie for weeks at a time, thus stirring up her anxiety once more.

And, could she marry Damon knowing his relationship with Stefan was still broken, rocky, pretty much non-fucking-existent? Could she honestly build a happy life knowing how badly she had to hurt someone in order to achieve it?

The questions wouldn't stop pestering Bonnie. The guilt, it never fully diminished or went away. It wasn't biodegradable. It was pollution. As much as she loved Damon, as much as she wanted a life with him, she finally had to admit to herself that with a very valuable and irreplaceable piece of his soul missing, she wasn't enough to fill in that gap. That space was not meant for her to start with. That space would always rightfully belong to Stefan.

Arguments started. Long silences. No communication. Things just broke down between them. They loved each other but it felt so tainted because they started all wrong.

" _We can start over," Damon presented his case._

" _Yeah, we can do that, but you still wouldn't have your brother in your life."_

So things officially ended between them eight weeks ago. Just long enough for Bonnie to start having symptoms and realize…she was late.

Here lied Damon Salvatore. A thirty-six year old man seated on the bathroom floor of his ex-girlfriend's condo waiting to find out if he was going to be a father or not. His butt had gone numb as well as his hands that dangled lifelessly between his splayed thighs. He sat with his knees drawn up, head down. He lifted it once it began to burn and stared into the middle distance.

He knew better than most how unpredictable life could be. His experiences didn't make him special or separate from any packs, just human. As a human, but more specifically a Salvatore, he had to learn how to roll with the punches because the punches came often…via Giuseppe Salvatore's fists. He learned survival tactics in the form of concealing his emotions, and letting his actions disprove people's preconceived notions about him. That way he'd always have the advantage, the upper hand.

That cutthroat instinct was decanted into a more personable being the moment he let Bonnie Bennett into his life. Not when he met her. He thought her eccentric. A perfect match for…Stefan.

Stefan. Damon didn't want to think about him right now.

" _One of us is going to have to make the other into an uncle at some point."_ His brother said those words to him a few weeks after being resurrected from the figurative dead.

Looks like that might be happening in the next nine months.

Getting that call from Bonnie surprised Damon. Alarmed him. Made his heart speed annoyingly. Infused him with a spark that suspiciously felt like hope. Now his insides felt all wrong and out of whack and he wasn't sure what he honestly wanted. Did he want to be a dad? Was he ready for the possibility of co-parenting if he and Bonnie could never get their shit together? Could he tell her and mean it when he inevitably said he'd support whatever decision she decided to make?

He was scared shitless.

If things had gone to plan, the plan being he and Bonnie being married, he would be attacking this moment with anticipation. He'd be bouncing on his toes, ready to buy out Babies-R-Us, upgrade to the dopest minivan he could find, already start looking for prestigious daycares and preschools. Put his condo on the market and move to Long Island. The Italian in him would demand Bonnie quit her job and be a stay-at-home mom. She'd never go for that but he'd use every trick in his book (mainly just his tongue, dick, and fingers) to get her to change her mind.

Now he was nothing but a spectator, in a sense.

All of that flashed through his mind in the eight minutes it was taking for the pee on that stick to seal their fates.

Two alarms went off. The one on Bonnie's phone and the other on Damon's. The breath they had been holding, well they were still holding it. Damon's heart lurched. Bonnie's stomach knotted.

"Do you want to look together or do you just want me to tell you?"

Bonnie's voice was raspier than normal. Dry throat. His was sand at this point. Damon pushed to his feet and sidled beside her, the test resting between them on the counter.

They looked at each other. So much history and then not enough.

"Are you scared?" Damon asked.

"Terrified."

"Do you wa…" he inadvertently coughed. "Do you want to…are you ready to be a mom?"

"Are you ready to be a dad?"

"I asked you first."

Bonnie dug her toe into the tile floor. Her heart palpitated and if it weren't for her grip on the counter she'd be on the floor. Having Damon here she hoped would ease the anxiety, but her anxiety ratcheted up. There were so many things she wanted, but most of all she just wanted to be happy. A child would be a ton of responsibility and she never saw herself raising a baby on her own, but millions of women did it every day. However, she knew no matter the outcome, Damon would be there. Reminding herself on that fact helped ease some of the tension, and she could begin to detect small rays of light at the end of the tunnel. The love was still there between them, palpable. And that love could have possibly created a new life. The thought was sobering and frightening in equal measure.

She stretched out her hand. Damon stared at it and after a moment of hesitation, he held it.

"I want to be a mom," a tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm ready."

Damon blew out a breath and nodded. "Me too. Let's see if we're going to be the most grossly attractive parents on the face of the earth."

Bonnie laughed her first genuine laugh in weeks.

After a minute long beat, they both looked down.

:::::

DAMON INHALED bitter cold air. He stood outside of Bonnie's building. Heard the sounds of the city, hoping the loudness of it would replace the blood that had drained from his skull hours before. Rubbing his hands together, he glanced at Bonnie's spot one final time and then began the journey home.

He pulled out his cell. Saw what time it was. A muscle in Damon's jaw flexed and he wondered if he should make this call or not. Avoiding was just another form of hiding.

Resigned, he searched his contacts, found what he was looking for, and hit the call option. Phone up to his ear, he dodged foot traffic and stopped at an intersection. The line rang until it clicked over to voicemail. Damon hadn't really expected anything different.

"Hey…Stefan, it's been a while, more like seven months since the last time we spoke or I talked to your voicemail. I just wanted to say…" he paused. It was right there on the tip of his tongue. "I just wanted to say…Happy Birthday. Hope you have a good one wherever you are. Take care."

Ending the call, Damon jogged across the intersection the minute the light turned green.

:::::

HE GRASPED THE headboard as his head fell back and his mouth opened but sound did not escape. Talking was impossible anyways, and breathing was just barely being accomplished. He laid spread eagle across a bed big enough to sleep four comfortably. The sheets were unimaginatively snow white, a perfect contrast to the amount of sinning that happened atop of them. Though to be fair sin and perfection did not come in any one color.

His back arched as his hard cock was taken deeper down a very flexible throat. Expletives sailed from his lips. A hand crept up his muscled torso before retreating to hold him still at the hip. This was too much and then not enough. Licks and sucks along his shaft made his eyes pop open but then shutter closed once more. He chuckled a little when she tapped the hardened crown of his dick against her lips before enclosing them once again, swallowing his rod like there was no tomorrow. She was amazing.

His balls drew up and he felt the heat, tingle, rush of impending climax. His grip tightened on the slats of the headboard, his toes curled, every muscle he possessed tensed.

He mouthed repeatedly in a mantra that he was coming. His end was imminent. The rollercoaster was coming to its final drop, and it would be lights out, curtains closed, the end.

Glutes flexed and tightened and he roared as cum rushed through his shaft and exploded through the tiny slit at the top. He thought she might pull away so he could shoot his creamy jizz on her cheeks, chin, give her a nice glazed coating, but no. She swallowed every dollop, sucked until her cheeks were hollow and his sacs were depleted. There was nothing left for him to give. Not without a thirty minute cool off period.

His muscles unclamped and he fell limp against the bed. His eyes rolled and he sighed in contentment.

For five minutes he languished right there in bliss. The cares of his world were forgotten and peace was his best friend. Steaming warmth emitted from every extremity, and his heart eased from his thunderous pace to its regulated, controlled tempo. He was happy.

"Ready for round two?"

And then he was not.

The sound of her voice was all wrong. As was the color of her eyes, skin, hair. He was shoved out of his warm cocoon of ignorance, and forced outside into the bitter cold of truth, because she just _had_ to speak and break the illusion. Or, remind him it was an illusion to begin with.

Stefan Salvatore released his death grip on the headboard and, after a beat or two, he sat upright. His head swam and he had a horrible taste in the back of his throat that wasn't the bourbon he had drunk for most of the night. That taste was disappointment and bitterness.

Soft hands stroked his stomach but his rising from the bed stopped all of that. He didn't want to be touched right now. He didn't even want to look at her. That would be rude and he was raised—well his upbringing left a lot to be desired. He could never forget the lessons his nonna literally beat into his head, though. He should show his companion some level of respect. And really, it wasn't her fault she was a substitute, a stand-in for who his soul to this very day cried out for.

Reaching for his Oxford, he shrugged it on and buttoned only a couple of buttons. Next he swiped up his boxer briefs and jumped into those followed by his trousers. When he was decent he faced the woman who lied curled on her side, naked. Beautiful and naked and looked sex ravaged but also empty in a way that he could almost believe she was an inanimate object. Already guilt and unease swept through Stefan. He hated using people. He had never really been comfortable with that if he couldn't give something back, but he had nothing to give to that woman. She took paltry offerings from him and never complained, but he vowed tonight would be the last night he used her.

She must have read the intent in his eyes. Hers clouded for a second then cleared, and finally she smiled as if she expected it and was fine with it. Her feelings wouldn't be hurt.

She rose with a fluidity that was captivating and mesmerizing. Even with mused hair and smeared lipstick, she was red carpet ready. Stefan saw the fine bones of her spine when she bent to reach for her dress, watched her shoulder blades work as she turned the garment right side out. He itched to grab his camera but he didn't want to be viewed as a creep on top of being a heartless prick.

In seconds she was dressed since she hadn't bothered to wear any underwear. She fluffed her hair, ran her fingers through the tangled strands, tutted when her locks wouldn't obey or she realized it wasn't worth trying to salvage. Everyone would know what she had been up to. Plus, they wouldn't think anything of it, wouldn't blink. Their coming together had been predictable. She the model and he the photographer. They went together like jocks and cheerleaders, actors and actresses.

"Do you mind if I clean up a little?" she asked in a dulcet voice.

"No, please. Take all the time you need. I'll wait for you."

Her grey-blue eyes sparkled, "You don't have to, Stefan. I've hogged you long enough. I'm sure Giuseppe wants his guest of honor back."

It still made Stefan cringe hearing that name despite the fact she wasn't talking about his father, but a fellow photographer he struck up a friendship with. It was jarring, nonetheless, and frequently Stefan had to remind himself that Giuseppe Bastianich was not the bastard whose loins he came from.

He said nothing as she picked up her discarded stilettos and made her way to the bathroom, quietly shutting the door.

Stefan released the breath he had been holding and left the bedroom. He loitered in the hallway, unearthed his phone, and stared at it. He had been doing a lot of that for a while now.

The decision to put a specific number to use was taken out of his hands when the bedroom door flew open. His date was surprised to see him, having assumed he retreated downstairs. Truth of the matter was, he didn't want to go back downstairs and mingle. He'd had as much socializing as he could stomach for one night.

She blushed and stepped out into the hall. "You didn't have to wait for me."

"I wanted to. It's what friends do and you've been a good friend to me, Eva."

The compliment threw her for a second but she beamed nonetheless. She hadn't operated under any pretenses that what they shared, quick and/or drawn out romps whenever she was in town meant more than the two of them having sex.

"Then I'm glad we're friends, Stefan." Pause. "This is going to be the last night we hook up…isn't it?"

Instead of answering right away, Stefan extended an arm that Eva accepted. She was taller than him by three inches without her heels. With the heels, she towered above him. She glanced at his profile wondering what was going through his mind, why she had sensed distance long before they snuck away upstairs. She could guess but she liked knowing facts.

They were downstairs that still teemed with people though it was nearing two in the morning. Now on the main level, Stefan unwound his arm from Eva's, kissed her hand, her cheek, and said, "Enjoy the rest of the party."

"You mean _your_ party. It's your birthday."

Stefan smiled weakly. "I'll call you."

Leaving the condo by revolving door, Stefan was plopped out into the cacophony of New York City. Even at this late hour, signs of life were everywhere. He barely paid any of it attention as he advanced north, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket he made sure to retrieve before bouncing. He walked on autopilot to his place, but paused.

Somewhere amid the seven million souls that called the Big Apple home were two people who, at one point, meant everything to him. One of those two people he could say his relationship was more than shaky; it bordered on being non-existent, but still retained a pulse of life to it. It wasn't altogether dead. Yet, life fizzled without a spark. The other person…Somewhere in one of the five boroughs laid his ex-wife. Somewhere was the former Missus Stefan Salvatore.

He tried. He tried for months, for a year now going on years to move on. In many ways he had. He was making a name for himself as a photographer, but that pesky thing called love, in him, it was stubbornly fixed.

Stefan's fingers itched for a cigarette despite he hadn't smoked since he was sixteen year old punk who thought he knew everything. But he needed something to take the edge off, to drive away the chaotic feeling that stirred every time he thought about…

His ex-wife.

Somewhere in New York was who he could no longer deny was his soul mate. And somehow they'd be one again.

"I'm coming for you, Bonnie."

::::

 **A/N: And there you have it folks. The drama continues. Are Bamon expecting parents? And just how does Stefan think he's going to win back his former wife? And to reiterate, Bamon did break up, but have they reconciled? Let me know what you think? Thank you so much for reading.**


	2. Space

**A/N: I can say I was shocked by the number of folks excited about this sequel. Thank you everybody for showing this Bamon/Stefonnie fic love. On with the show.**

* * *

 **Mystic Falls, May—2013**

WHEN YOU MADE a choice and you think it's the right choice, you never know how it's going to be to live with it. When you're settled in a decision there's peace, but when you're unsure there's tumult.

Today he had needed to hit the weights to clear his mind. Benching, curls, pull ups, and cardio burned the calories and the excess tension of anxiety that was unfortunately starting to creep back in. The cunning thing about anxiety was, it never went away; it just became dormant until triggered. And Stefan Salvatore was definitely triggered.

Overall his week had been shitty. He took partial joy in it being Friday, but there wasn't much else for him to look forward to. His weekends were dedicated to honing his skills as a photographer. He had boasted to his brother about closing on a space he had grand designs to turn into a studio and school, but those plans had fallen through. The developer had a change of heart. In actuality, it had been a change of money from the city or another buyer offering double what Stefan could afford. That setback usually wouldn't have hampered his drive to succeed, but it fucking did. The taste of failure had him returning to the familiar.

So Stefan had fled to Mystic Falls to lick his wounds, and to start the arduous task of packing up the home that made him feel like a true adult. Shoving years of memories and mementos into cardboard, sealing away the version of himself he felt alien to today. Vacating the space he wandered around bare foot, naked, or fully clothed, preparing meals in the kitchen, lounging on the couch, soaking in a tub surrounded by candles. A new couple would move into the townhouse he and Bonnie bought and create new secrets and traditions for the walls to absorb.

Cricking his neck, he stomped across the parking lot of Hard Hitters Gym unmindful of the rain that soaked through his hoodie, t-shirt, and jogging pants, and deactivated the alarm on his rental. Stefan tossed his gym bag in the back and climbed behind the wheel. He stuffed the key in the ignition but he couldn't turn it over.

Someone was standing in front of his car.

His heart had been pounding from his bruising workout before, _now_ it was pounding so badly he could taste it in his Adam's apple as he stared at _her_. Though her face was shadowed by the hood of her jacket, he knew it was her. Once upon a time she used to live under his skin that came alive, started to tingle whenever he looked at her, felt her presence, smelled her perfumed skin, or heard her sweet, sultry voice. At the moment, she stood unmoving, being pelted by the rain. Stefan wondered where she came from and how she'd know he'd be here. He supposed that didn't really matter since she found him. The windshield was slowly fogging up, and though the picture of her was partially distorted, he couldn't avert his gaze. Fuck, he couldn't even blink.

She moved and his muscles twitched. Every limb he possessed was tense, but with each step she took as she rounded the hood of his car, they loosened, became pliable.

Cold air rushed in the second she opened the passenger side door and plopped down on the seat. Instantly his nostrils filled, was overwhelmed by her scent, the rain. He turned his whole head knowing he was glaring but the glare wasn't really meant for her.

His eyes dipped down and devoured the sight of her parted shiny lips, and the tiny droplets of water that clung to her cheeks and dripped from the bottom of her chin. He watched as one rolled down her throat, and he licked his dry lips wishing he could chase after it with his tongue.

No. It wasn't like that with them anymore and it never would be again. Why was that so hard to remember as of late?

Stefan tore his gaze away, and with nothing else to do, he strangled the steering wheel. "What do you want?" He finally broke the silence.

She pushed her hood off. Now he could smell her damp, shampoo infused hair. Cacao, olive and coconut oil. "We need to talk."

He blew out a breath feeling tired suddenly. And despite his wet and cold clothes, his body heat rose. He could see the steam rising off his own skin, could see that steam fogging up the windows even more. With her so close, and the space so tight between them, it was a miracle he could still breathe and think. His blood, after all, was beginning to traverse south. Stefan slumped against the seat, spread his knees as far as they could go, the left bumping against the door, the right pressed against the console. Stupid traitorous body.

"The only communication we need to have is through our lawyers and realtor."

"A divorce, Stefan? How can you file for a divorce when we're not even technically married since I had you declared dead?"

"The divorce is just to take care of any…unforeseen loopholes," he explained. "I thought you'd be happy."

Bonnie Bennett swallowed with some difficulty. Unconsciously she noticed Stefan's cheeks were lightly flushed; his hair was wet, and his face damp. He was growing a beard again. Right now it was just several days' worth of whiskers that hugged his angular jaw. These were observations she made and imprinted with little awareness she was actually doing it.

"Happy?" she jeered. "Blindsided, maybe. I just didn't…expect it. I thought. I thought we had gotten to a place where we could be cordial and maybe friendly with one another."

Having a sheriff show up at her office to serve her with divorce papers, Bonnie thought she had understood humiliation. She had gotten a rude reality check on that.

"I'm not doing this to hurt you. I'm protecting myself, Bon. That's all I'm trying to do. I'm hoping to launch my own photography studio and…"

Bonnie held up a hand. "I get it. The divorce is so I won't have any claim to your business or its revenue. I would never ask you for anything. Especially after everything I've done."

Stefan made no reply. The conversation since the Night He Wish He Could Forget seemed to be Bonnie's regret and his anger. It was on a constant rotation and nothing was ever solved or changed. They lived apart. He was doing what he could to build a life in California. He thought…he thought he had even been falling in love with Leah Clearwater. For a few short weeks life felt perfect.

Until it had been brought to his attention that on some credit reports he was still listed as married. That had been a shock, a tough pill to swallow that some institutions continued to recognize his marriage when he thought it had been dissolved by a technicality. So Stefan called up his lawyer and asked official divorce papers be drafted. Of course it felt personal to Bonnie. Irrevocably severing ties to someone you made vows to, there was no way it would ever be _impersonal_. But he honestly hadn't done it to hurt her. Stefan simply wanted his stability back.

"Fine. I guess it makes sense. If either of us remarries, it'll be good to know for sure our first marriage is…truly over."

Her words knocked Stefan out of his reverie.

"So let's go to the lawyer's office," Bonnie sighed. "I have the papers in my car. This doesn't have to be a process that lasts for months."

Stefan perked up, "Don't…don't you want to hire your own lawyer and have them look everything over? We didn't sign a prenup."

"I'm not expecting you to take care of me until I remarry. We've already agreed to sell the house and split the profits."

"The joint bank account?"

"Again, we'll split that evenly."

"The boardinghouse?"

"I have no claim to that. That house was passed down to you and Damon," Bonnie angled her body more toward her ex. "The only thing I want out of this is us not to harbor any ill-will toward each other and…" Bonnie bit her lip, "you and Damon to be brothers again. _Real_ brothers."

Stefan's nostrils flared at that. He looked away, stared out of the windshield. The rain stopped and now a light mist fell from the sky. "It's going to take more than a notarized document for that to happen," he rumbled darkly.

"So long as it happens."

"Idealist."

Bonnie smiled sadly, "One of us has to be."

A long silence fell between them.

Stefan brought his bluish-green gaze to Bonnie once more. "Are you keeping my last name?"

Bonnie opened her mouth to respond, no words came, just a choked kind of sound. She hadn't thought about it. Relinquishing the name Salvatore. A last name she'd had for a good chunk of her life. Could she do that?

"Seems it would be a hassle to change it if one day you marry Damon," a muscle in Stefan's jaw ticked. He didn't really want to think about her marrying anyone else right now. But the thought was there, unbidden.

Bonnie ducked her head, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. She and Damon were nowhere near ready for marriage, and hadn't talked about it. Discussing that with Stefan would be cruel and twisting a knife, therefore, she pinched her lips together, ducked her head.

Seeing the discomfort radiating from Bonnie brought Stefan no measure of satisfaction. The idea of his ex-wife and brother running off into the sunset made the center of his chest burn with hatred and his knuckles itch. Seeing the kind of marriage his parents had, the lies, the infidelity, the fights Stefan expected to be turned off by the idea of settling down with one person. Marriage was something that may or may not happen for him, and if it never did he figured he wouldn't be missing anything. Then he met Bonnie and the search was over. She was THE ONE. Love was real.

The unfortunately lesson he learned was: Love could be crushed and incinerated by the one he thought would never turn her back on him.

Bonnie could see what he was thinking about. Guilt fanned through her entire body and made her feel dizzy. Her cheeks heated.

Thumping his head on the head rest, Stefan whispered, "If I had never gone on that trip…would we be here?"

It was a valid question. A dangerous question. One Bonnie tiptoed around because if she really examined the answer, well, she'd end up breaking another heart.

She avoided that reality and concentrated on the one she was living in and going through. After all, someone wise once said when you're in hell go through it. Don't stop to take pictures.

Abruptly Stefan started the engine. "Follow me to Mason's office."

Blinking rapidly, Bonnie fumbled for the door handle. "All right. I'll meet you there."

Forty-five minutes later they were shown into Mason Lockwood's office. The attorney took one look at his clients, their water-logged appearance, the sorrow in Bonnie's eyes versus the resignation in Stefan's. He read the grave situation for what it was and acted accordingly, swiftly, carefully explaining the terms to the dissolution of their marriage.

"Are you sure you don't want to wait until your own counsel is present before signing, Bonnie?"

"Do you know the details of how my relationship with Stefan ended?"

Mason glanced at the man in question before returning her unflinching stare. He nodded infinitesimally.

Bonnie arched a brow, "So how can I demand anything? What's been drawn up in these papers is fair enough."

She stretched out a hand for the pen. Mason hesitated before placing it into her palm. Bonnie applied her signature to every place it had been marked for her to supply her name. Each time she did, more and more tears clouded her eyes but didn't fall. Her nose felt plugged and her knee wouldn't stop bouncing. Once reaching the final page, Bonnie wavered. Her hand shook. A piece of her felt, maybe even irrationally, like she was Princess Mary signing away her legitimacy, declaring herself a bastard to save her neck. Yet if she, Stefan, and Damon were going to move on, to end the pain this had to be done.

Her throat was a pinhole and everything had grown numb. Mason and Stefan watched, one breathing evenly, the other having a bit of trouble filling his lungs.

Clearing her throat, Bonnie scrawled her name along the final dotted line, and pushed the papers away as if they were toxic. She met each man's gaze, rose to her feet, and walked out of the office without a backwards look.

:::::

THE RAIN TOYED with them. Coming down in heavy sheets that wiped out visibility before becoming lite and delicate. She had to wait for a lull in the rain to make her escape, and Bonnie took it as soon as she could actually see her car parked in the driveway.

She locked the car after parking in a packed lot then clicked and clacked across herringbone brick. She was dressed to kill because she refused to sit around at home to reminiscence about this afternoon. Divorced in a single day, must be some kind of new record, Bonnie thought forlornly. With her boyfriend and best friend inaccessible, her self-esteem needed an alcoholic boost.

And there was only one place to go. Donovan's, a restaurant located inside the Van Dussen Hotel.

She inclined her head at the doorman who pulled back the brass handle of the glass door of the hotel, then ambled her way across silver-veined marble to the bar. The cacophony of conversations was louder than the instrumental music that meant to bolster a relaxed and upscale ambiance. Everyone was determined to be heard over the next group of rowdy parishioners, laughing obnoxiously and making lewd comments. Coming here on a Friday was probably a bad idea, but Bonnie got either free or discounted drinks because she happened to know the owner. Matt Donovan.

Tonight Bonnie was hoping not to run into him. He would ask questions and she lacked the patience to answer them.

She bypassed the hostess motioning she was going straight for the bar that was thankfully not overrun with impatient businesspeople or college coeds. There had been a gaggle of men who halted their conversations to watch her glide across the restaurant, but she could care less. She wasn't here to get hit on or go home with anybody.

Bonnie found a vacant stool and wiggled her way on to it, and dropped her clutch on the surface of the bar. The green-eyed beauty ordered a shot to start and a California red to follow.

Five minutes later her cell rang giving her a break from loneliness. "Hey, Lena."

"How are you? You sound frustrated."

Bonnie's lips pulled into a tight smile. "Not frustrated just…I don't know what the hell I am," she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Would you believe me if I said I got divorced today?"

"What?" Elena squeaked.

"Yeah. I got served with papers earlier this week. Stalked Stefan to the gym, we talked, and headed to Mason's office to make our split as official as it can get."

"Damn, I'm sorry, Bonnie."

"Yeah, well."

"Is Damon with you?"

"No, he is not," Bonnie mouthed thank you to the bartender after he dropped off her wine. "I haven't talked to him all day. Tried to call him I don't know how many times but I just…can't."

"You need time to process everything that's happened. You essentially lost Stefan all over again although you guys haven't been together for months."

Bonnie shook her head, fighting the threat of tears. "We sat in Mason's office last September where he said that our marriage wasn't valid since I had Stefan declared dead. Fast forward and Stefan has papers drawn up to make absolutely certain there won't be any surprises later. I know it makes sense but it doesn't make sense. We had no idea what we were to each other anymore when he came back. We thought… _fuck_."

Elena murmured sympathetically. "I wish I could be there for you."

"Hearing your voice over the phone helps."

"What's your next move after selling the house? You continue to live in Mystic Falls or New York?"

Elena was the only person who knew the total truth. Bonnie couldn't have hidden it from her since Elena had been working the night she was rushed to the emergency room after falling on a piece of glass from a broken picture frame. Hospital room confessions ensued and Bonnie's bestie knew her dirty laundry. The rest of Bonnie's friends knew she and Stefan had split, but not the reason, and she was going to keep it that way for as long as she could.

"My practice is here," she answered. "I don't know if I want to uproot my life and move to New York."

"So you're going to long distance it out with Damon?"

Bonnie rubbed her lips together. She didn't feel right discussing their future on the same day she signed divorce papers.

A man sat on the stool next to her, tapped her shoulder. Bonnie glared and pointed she was on her phone and shooed him off.

"TBD," she hedged. "Enough about my problems, how are things going in Colorado?"

"Great. Jenna and Mark say hello by the way. Oh and I have news," Elena trilled giddily. "Jeremy _finally_ proposed to Anna."

Brows arched, Bonnie drank a huge gulp of wine. "Really? That's…nice," she rolled her eyes at the lame, half-hearted reply. "Have they set a date?"

"They're thinking next spring or summer for the wedding. Anna's already asked me to be her maid of honor. It was so romantic how he…"

Bonnie's mind floated away from Elena's gushy recap.

 _Pressed up against the wall of her tiny Parisian apartment, hot breath on her neck that turned into a moist tongue, Bonnie moaned as Stefan left a wet, hot trail of kisses along her throat._

" _Marry me," he breathed, voiced graveled, on her flushed skin._

 _She didn't give him an answer. Too lost in what he was doing to her neck and below her hips to form a coherent, intelligible thought._

" _Marry me," he slid into her swollen, hard, and fast._

 _When morning came, she woke up first. Bonnie stretched the kinks out of her body, smiled at the faint throb happening in her center, moaned as contentment rolled through her like waves. Rolling her head to her left, her nose nearly bumped into Stefan._

 _He slept on his stomach, face buried in the pillow. In a flash she remembered the question he had asked and wondered if it had just been something he said in the heat of the moment. They had talked about marriage in passing. Little comments about if they ever saw themselves tying the knot, did they want children and how many. It had all been hypothetical, way in the future considerations, not something she ever expected Stefan to bring up a year and a half into their relationship. Yet as she mulled it over, Bonnie found she didn't want to picture what life would be like without Stefan in it. He was her best friend even her cheerleader on occasion. He was home._

 _Smiling, an idea came to her. Bonnie tip toed out of bed, into the bathroom, and returned. Straddling Stefan, she uncapped her lipstick and wrote her reply down the center of his spine. He woke up a few minutes later, groggy, creases on his cheek and temple, smiling goofily at her._

" _Were you serious about what you asked me yesterday?" she said in lieu of a good morning._

" _What I asked?"_

" _Yes," she slapped his chest. "The very important question you asked me. The question most women long to hear."_

" _Oh,_ that _question."_

 _Bonnie rolled her eyes but stared expectantly._

 _Stefan scratched his side after propping himself up on his elbow. "Yeah. I meant it."_

" _My answer is on your back."_

 _His brow furrowed in confusion. "What?" he twisted his neck awkwardly to try to see._

" _Go look in the mirror, idiot."_

" _I don't know if I want to get married if I'm going to be insulted upon waking up. Can I get a blow job first?"_

 _For that he received a whack to the face with a pillow. Chuckling, Stefan climbed out of bed in full birthday suit, dick bobbing. He made his way to the bathroom._

 _Two seconds later, Bonnie heard a joyful whoop. A naked Salvatore flew out of the bathroom and tackled her on the bed. He kissed her full on the mouth. Bonnie wasn't really pretending to be grossed out._

" _Morning breath," she complained and tried to wiggle free._

" _Get used to it because you're gonna be stuck with me for forever."_

"Bonnie? Bonnie, you still there?"

"What? Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?" Bonnie flagged down the bartender and ordered yet another drink.

By the time she got off the phone with Elena she had downed two additional glasses of wine. Head buzzing, her worries and cares bled through her pores. Paradise wasn't always a sandy beach and turquoise waters. Paradise could be a bottomless cup.

::::

THE BUSTLE OF activity inside Donovan's showed no signs of slowing down as the hour inched closer to midnight. Most businesses were beginning to or had closed their doors for the night, but those who catered to the nocturnal turned few away. There was always one more dollar to be made.

One sweep of the bar was all it took to find her. He stood in the cut observing as she sat alone wearing a dark blue dress he knew fit like a second skin. With no ring on her finger (not like it mattered to some), no friends around to act as creep repellent, she appeared to be fair game. Exhaling, Stefan clenched his molars on top of one another.

He had gotten a call from Matt asking if he could give Bonnie a ride home. That was the last thing he saw himself doing after the afternoon they had, but here he was to the rescue. Old habits being hard as fuck to break. He could have easily told Matt to do the obvious and call Bonnie a cab. But his friend entrusted his ex to no one's care but Stefan's. It wasn't that Matt wasn't aware of their breakup; he and his wife Rebekah had made it up in their minds to play a sly game of Cupid to get them back together. Stefan had no problems spoiling the end of the movie. It wasn't happening.

The hostess beamed and eyed him with frank appreciation, but he shut her down before she could get a foot in the door.

"Just looking for a…friend. Thanks."

In less than six strides, Stefan was across the restaurant and almost T-boned Matt who had come from his office presumably.

The two men gave one another a pound and engaged in a dulcet conversation with Matt occasionally looking at Bonnie who finally looked up from the bottom of her glass. Once it registered what and _who_ she was seeing, daggers shot from her eyes.

"You've been made, my friend," Matt clapped him on the shoulder. "Go get your girl."

Stefan did a double take. "She's not my girl anymore, asshole."

Matt held up his hands trying and failing to look contrite.

"Bonnie."

Startled, she whipped her head to the right. He arrived at her side a lot quicker than expected. Stefan was leaned over her chair as he stood behind her, his lips nothing but a hairsbreadth away from her ear. He wore jeans and an olive green button down that highlighted the fruits of his workouts. Resting most of his weight on his left hand that was placed palm down on the bar next to her elbow, Bonnie caught herself staring at his Tag Heuer watch. It had been a gift she'd given to Stefan on their second wedding anniversary.

"Why are you here?" she pushed her wine glass back and forth on the napkin.

"To take you home. Matt said you had more than usual to drink."

"Snitch," she hissed. "That's an exaggeration. I only had a couple of glasses of wine."

"Couple, a few, a dozen, doesn't matter. You're not getting behind the wheel."

Bonnie scowled. "I do know how to call a cab. So you came all this way for nothing. Besides, we're divorced, Stefan. That means you're off the hook. You no longer have to care about me."

Stefan pursed his lips, "You know me better than that. Let's go."

Bonnie huffed. Stefan's stubbornness could match and outshine hers. A battle of wills, a high noon showdown between the exes ensued with neither blinking nor budging.

"Bon, it's late," Matt intervened. "Let Stefan take you home. We'll all feel better knowing you made it home safe."

Fuck safety, Bonnie had to bite down real hard on her tongue not to say that. It was more than just her safety. It was principle. It was the fact the man standing adjacent to her had divorce papers drummed up that were signed just this afternoon. It was that same man coming to her aid to drive her to the place they picked out and purchased together. It was a reminder how she failed as a wife and a decent human being.

Her eyes burned and she looked away. Matt picked up on her turmoil, shot Stefan a look before backing away knowing that whatever was about to transpire would be easier on them both if he wasn't around to witness it.

Stefan leaned closer, boxing Bonnie in. "I don't want to cause a scene but I will if I have to. I will throw you over my shoulder. _If_ you don't want to have an up close encounter with my ass as you hang upside down, you'll grab your purse, get off this gotdamn stool, and come with me. Final warning."

Bonnie squinted. Stefan arched a brow. Blindly she reached for her clutch.

Stefan pulled out her chair and backed up a step to give her room to maneuver to her feet.

"Hey," he addressed one of the bartenders, "put her bill under my tab. Salvatore."

"Nope," Bonnie popped open her clutch, extracted a fifty, and dropped it next to her empty glass.

Shaking his head, Stefan followed behind Bonnie and lightly touched her elbow to steer her where he parked.

A tension filled ride that seemed to last forever came to a blessed end. Bonnie, with a shaky hand, unlocked the door of the townhouse. She kicked off her shoes, flicked on some lights. Guardedly she watched Stefan as he tentatively entered the premises covertly looking around. Looking for signs his brother was there amid the boxes and packing materials, Bonnie guessed.

"Thanks for seeing me home," she yawned and rubbed her temples.

"Thanks for not puking on the way here."

Bonnie snorted. "I can hold my liquor. Like I said, I only had a few drinks."

"Speaking of drinks, don't forget to drink some water."

"I won't. Do you…do you want something to drink before you go?"

"No, I'm fine," Stefan flashed a strained smile, dawdled for a moment. "I should have asked this earlier but where's Damon?"

"Boston for a leadership conference. Why?"

"Thought he might be around to give you a lift to pick up your car tomorrow."

"I'll just take a cab to get it." Pause. "While I'm doing that I need to figure out where I'm going to live," Bonnie randomly shared. "I guess I need to start apartment hunting."

Stefan remained mute.

He eyed Bonnie as she stood in the center of the living room. He couldn't help it. He looked down to the floor to that spot where she had landed on a wicked piece of broken glass from a picture frame he smashed in rage. Eyes wandering back to Bonnie, Stefan couldn't see the puckered, keloid scar on the inside of her right thigh since her dress covered it up, but he knew it was there. A permanent reminder of how out of control he felt, a reminder their lives had imploded. And they were still cleaning up the mess. He swallowed, chest heaved up and down. He needed to get out of here.

"It's sad we never even got a chance to," Bonnie let her thought wander away. If she thought of the children they never got around to having, the floodgates would open.

Stefan knew what she was hinting at. He was glad there weren't any kids involved, but maybe if there had been? Thinking like this yielded nothing so he cut off the thought.

"I should go."

Big green eyes widened a little, "Oh. Okay," Bonnie's voice was whisper soft and threadbare.

She showed him to the door. The air was heavy. She propped her shoulder against the wall, staring at her ex-husband with glazed eyes and maybe even a pinch of nostalgia. Should she be annoyed or resigned that despite everything he still meant a lot to her and probably always would? Why couldn't feelings just end after signing a piece of paper, or someone moving out, or stopping all lines of communication? Why did things fester until the feelings were no longer raw and visceral?

Stefan regarded her for a moment, hand on the knob.

This was déjà vu. They had been here before. Only, they had been standing outside of a restaurant days prior to Valentine's Day. Stefan had been as open as he could get, all things considered, when he admitted he could try again if Bonnie wanted. She said she was in love with his brother. That was it. They were done. Stefan's last sliver of hope had been summarily crushed, but he walked away not feeling defeated or being shoved aside, but something he couldn't quite categorize. Hopeful, maybe, that his life and story were about to get a reboot.

Here he stood just three months later and it was no easier the second time around.

Stefan had allowed himself a taste of her mouth in February as a sweet, tortured goodbye, but that want was rolling back in. Thicker than its predecessor. When he looked at Bonnie he didn't see her fucking his brother. She was the simply the woman who accosted him on a busy Parisian street for taking her picture. She was the woman who made him belief he was not a pariah to happiness.

Bonnie felt the pull. Could see where it may potentially lead. Those possibilities made her heart pound. She didn't fight it when Stefan lightly grabbed what fabric he could of her dress and pulled her into him. For one tantalizing second she thought…but no. This was better. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she buried her nose in his chest. Finally the tears came and wouldn't stop coming. She cried so hard a vein protruded from her temple as she balled Stefan's shirt in her little fist.

Dammit, he wanted her, wanted to make love to her one last time. They were still husband and wife even if the titles were nothing but a matter of formality. That underlining heat…Their connection it flickered and burned and petered out before charging again. It was confusing but what was familiar was having Bonnie close, touching her, holding her.

Unfortunately…

She was with Damon now.

 _So._ That was his dick talking which he ignored. Barely.

"I should go," he said.

Bonnie held him tighter.

"I need to."

Bonnie shook her head.

Stefan bit back a groan. "Please, Bon. Let me go."

Her petulant brain didn't want to.

"We shouldn't be…doing this. We can't make it worse." That's what his mouth said but his hands were busy rubbing her back, caressing along the curve of her spine coming within a millimeter of her ass.

He was hard and warm and familiar. If they just…

 _What about Damon?_

Bonnie pierced her closed eyes even tighter as shame funneled through her. His face flashed in her mind. Those blue-blue eyes, that dirty smirk. She loved him. And this…this wasn't right.

Sighing breathily and, with herculean strength of will, Bonnie stepped away and wrapped her arms around herself. She hadn't been too sure what she might have let happen or even initiated. Alcohol in her system, impaired judgement, feeling alone and vulnerable was a recipe for 'what the fuck did I do last night?' Yet for a second, she had been willing to risk it all to feel Stefan rutting into her wet, hot twat again. Flames burned in her cheeks. She vowed to get and keep her shit together.

Their rushed breathing and erratic heartbeats was about the only thing to be heard in the darkened foyer. Stefan licked his lips as he stared at Bonnie's. She did the same.

Stefan tipped his head, opened the door. He left saying what he couldn't.

Their business should have been finished. Now, it just seemed like it had been put on pause.

::::

RED AND BLUE lights lit up the area like a dance hall. Horns blared, radios squawked as police officers, firefighters, and EMT's arrived on the 1600 block of Mayor's Drive. What people were still burning the midnight oil at their offices had crept outside though ordered to stay back as firefighters tried to put out the flames that engulfed the offices of Mason Lockwood, Esquire.

A smile blossomed on her lips. She'll be so pleased when she finds out what she's done for her. Yes, she'll save them. That's what friends did for one another. Saved each other from making drastic mistakes.

 **A/N: So yes, I had Stefonnie get a legal divorce. In Indiscretion I said their marriage was no longer valid since Stefan had been declared dead. I'm not a lawyer so take the legalities in this fic with a grain of salt lol. I just love plot bunnies. Also note this is what happened three months from the ending of Indiscretion. I'll be spending a chapter or two more in the past before getting things caught back up in the future. So you're gonna have to wait a lil while longer for a yea or nah on the pregnancy. Hope you still love me. Thanks so much for reading!**


	3. Glass

**Mystic Falls; May—2013**

THE BEGINNING RAYS of sunshine cut through layers of clouds and smoke to warm the asphalt that was wet with water runoff from fire hoses and hydrants. Heavy work boots sloshed back and forth as clusters of people stood out on the outskirts gaping, documenting, and hypothesizing about what happened. About what or who could have caused the fire that burned down the law offices of Mason Lockwood.

He either had enemies or bad luck was the general consensus. Some were secretly giddy that a member of one of the families that controlled the city had been brought down a peg or two. Outwardly, they showed concern that no one had gotten hurt or worse—killed.

The latter part was doubtful since the blaze started in the middle of the night, during an hour no one should have been inside the building. Yet there could have been an overzealous intern, associate, or paralegal that wanted to get the jump on their day and arrived at three a.m. to get ahead on assignments. Again, that was doubtful. Mason was pretty laid back for a lawyer and did not normally handle high profile cases. His brother Richard Lockwood did. So was it possible one of Richard's enemies torched his little brother's office as a warning?

None of that mattered to Bonnie who pushed her way through the gossiping crowd to the front of the crime scene police tape barrier.

She had seen on the news and couldn't believe. Now being right across the street from the burned down office, taking in its smoldering remains, her jaw dropped open in incredulity.

 _Of course_ a fire would breakout at the very law office she signed her divorce papers in the day before. _Of course_ she and Stefan would have to restart the process of dividing their assets and putting it down on paper. _Of course_ she'd have to sign line after dotted line severing, irrevocably, all ties to her first love, and act like none of it fazed her. _Of fucking course!_

Feeling a familiar sensation of awareness course down her spine, Bonnie looked to her right and there stood Stefan dressed entirely in black wearing a ball cap low on his head. As if sensing her too, he shifted his head to the left spotting her. Both of them missed a disheveled Mason Lockwood looking bankrupt, helpless, and wrathful as he spoke with investigators. They were too focused on one another beaming silent unanswerable messages to each other. Until Stefan broke the connection by redirecting his attention elsewhere. He drank in the scene one final time before disappearing. Bonnie fought instinct to follow. Those days were over.

 **New York; September—2013**

JITTERY. Damon Salvatore couldn't stop his hands from shaking. And he hadn't touched a single drop of caffeine. He sat behind his imposing desk that sat on top of twenty-seven floors of concrete and steel, and though his mind should have been feasting on the endless reports that poured in nonstop, he was thinking about three hours ago.

Showered and dressed in a freshly laundered suit, he still sniffed himself paranoid he could smell perfume. Did he really need to find himself falling face first into the oldest stereotype for men in his tax bracket with his level of status and success?

"This can't happen again," he had told her as he tucked his shirttails into his custom made trousers and zipped up his cock that had led him astray. "I'm going to get fired."

"I doubt that. You're too valuable."

He had walked (skipped) out of the top floor condo, tying his tie while thumbing through the string of incriminating text messages they had sent to one another for the last two weeks. Two weeks of harmless flirting and innuendos. It was never supposed to lead to him shirking his duties to arrive on her doorstep in the middle of the fucking work day. Damon lied to himself saying he was merely going to help her out because she called him panicked. It had been an emergency and only he was semi-available to help her.

Of course he ignored (barely) the fact she wore nothing but a thigh baring robe in the one color mostly associated with sex—red. Damon had followed behind her like an obedient puppy, eyes glued to the swells of her ass that jiggled in a rhythm he would testify in court had put him into a trance. It wasn't until he ran into a chair at the kitchen table he realized where she had led him then pointed toward the sink.

A precious diamond bracelet had fallen off and was now stuck in the drainage pipe. She pouted about being no good with tools, and mocked her inability to tell a hammer from a socket wrench. Damon indulged the ploy, removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, tossed his tie over his shoulder, and went to work.

Fifteen minutes later he saved her bracelet and she had thrown herself into his arms, cheering as if he caught a ninety-yard pass and scored a touchdown. Her soft curves pressed into his muscles, her nipples beading and scraping against his chest. The scent of her moisturized skin had been too much.

Right there, in the kitchen. He bent her over the table, hiked her robe above the voluptuous hills of her ass that wouldn't quit. He had nearly ripped a hole in his pants so eager to get them off and plow into her offering that was wet with the most mouth-watering aroma. He had succumbed so easily. Hadn't put up much of fight. They had both known if he meant for their flirting to be nothing more than flirting he wouldn't have ended a meeting and crossed town to come to her aid.

Damon thought busting one nut would kill the craving, stuff the curious monster back into his cage. Wrong. It only made him hungrier.

This time he had to see her completely naked, otherwise, he was positive he'd go blind.

And seeing her naked had been almost too much. Her pinup girl proportions, her flawless skin, her pedicured toes. Damon thought he was depleted, had nothing left to give, but felt himself firming up, thickening with arousal so potent he wobbled in the loafers he still wore. He licked his lips as she caressed her own skin, sinking fingers between her breasts, down her flat and knotted belly, teasing the engorged clit of her bare pussy. Damon pounced, burying his tongue in her mouth, kneading her breasts. Hiking her leg around his waist, he had entered her again. Harder than he could ever remember being.

The pen in his hand rolled and dropped to his desk. "Fuck," he whispered harshly. "Shit."

Today had been their first time not using a condom.

Delirious panic swept through him as he thought of the repercussions of that. But he reminded himself she was on birth control.

Just as he pushed back the chair of his desk to make a dash for the bathroom to splash water on his face to calm down, the door to his office opened.

Damon swallowed his tongue and slowly found himself retaking his seat.

"What are you doing here?"

Bonnie Bennett hoovered beneath the threshold wearing a modest button down tucked into a pair of skintight light blue jeans, hair styled in a fishtail braid looking the epitome of classic and wholesome. Many would be hard pressed to believe she had stuck her fingers in herself after he finished the second time and licked those fingers slippery with his cum and her essence clean.

He gulped. Bit back a groan at the memory.

A corner of her painted lips lifted as she entered his office completely, softly closing the door behind her. Shutting that door made him feel as if she had sealed off any new access to oxygen, space, rational thinking.

"I said what are you doing here?" he sat straighter in his chair.

From behind her back she lifted up his Rolex watch.

"You left this behind. Figured you might want it back."

He spied his left wrist. It was naked.

Damon's hands lowered to his legs. He gripped his knees. The soft plodding of Bonnie's five-inch burnt umber heels across the carpeted floor, the cadence of his breathing sounded ominous. Sweat beaded along his hairline as his heart knocked against his ribs. Damon kept his gaze locked on her even as she rounded his desk and gently plopped his watch on top its messy surface.

"Thank you," he replied softly.

Bonnie sank her ass on the lip of his desk, crossed her legs at the ankles. "You're welcome."

That teasing smile was back on a face too beautiful for its own good. It was a face that could afford her anything she wanted. All she had to do was ask and it was given. Given cheerfully. Reverently. Long ago Damon had made a vow, sworn an oath he wouldn't fall into the group of men who would gladly relinquish their sanity just to have one night in her bed, in her arms, drowning in sensation and emotion. Failed.

"You didn't have to come all this way to return my watch."

"I know I didn't. I wanted to. We don't have much time left before I have to hop on a plane to Mystic Falls."

"You sure there's nothing I can do or say to get you to stay?" he ran his tongue across his lip top, tasting the saltiness of his own skin, even faint traces of her pussy.

As if he delivered that lick straight to her clit, Bonnie's pelvis throbbed. She cleared her throat, "I'm sure. My life is still there."

Damon felt a pinch of irritation. Shouldn't he be considered "her life"? "Don't remind me," he grumbled. "You can move. New York is beautiful in the fall," he graced her with a winning smile.

"So is Mystic Falls," Bonnie countered. "My clients are there. My practice. Things have finally settled and the last thing I want to do is move. Again."

Damon sighed heavily. "Bon, I'm tired of making these airline companies richer. We spend more time traveling to see one another than actually _seeing_ one another. Something has got to give. Besides your practice, what's honestly keeping you in Virginia? Your divorce has been finalized. The townhouse has new owners. Your friends are living their lives, getting married, and having babies."

He hoped mentioning the latter two things, Bonnie would pick up on his hint.

Instead, Damon jumped at the feel of her foot on his calf, rising higher. Using her toes, she swiveled his chair toward her, and he swallowed his tongue as she ran those pedicured feet along his in seam headed straight for Plymouth Rock.

"I already told you," she crooned. "I'm not uprooting my life until I'm ready to do that."

Damon bit his tongue. From the moment he found out Stefan had filed for divorce so there wouldn't be any surprises later, Damon had wanted to torpedo his relationship with Bonnie to the next level. Moving in together. They were living together, technically. She had moved into the condo he leased in Mystic Falls; however a bulk of his time was spent several states away. So the obvious solution was Bonnie relocating to New York. Unfortunately, his headstrong girlfriend was deeply opposed to that. Yes, her reasons were valid, Damon mused, but he felt the longer they lived separate lives the longer it would take to make things completely solid, real, and permanent between them. He was in this for the long haul. This wasn't a meaningless fling. They weren't friends with benefits. They were in love.

But hardly anyone knew it.

Mystic Falls was not the most open-minded of places. Prior to Stefan's disappearance, his little brother and Bonnie had merely been "that interracial couple", but that sentiment transformed into them being not exactly star-crossed lovers, but a storybook romance for sure. Those who were aware of Bonnie and Stefan's separation were on the side of true love conquers all.

And it pissed Damon the fuck off.

Traveling back and forth, Face-timing, sexting, and late-into-the-night conversations had so far kept their relationship afloat, but it was taking a toll on them both. Damon wanted more. More time. More her. More of everything, and while Bonnie gave what she could, bouncing back from emotional punches wasn't as easy as it had been when she was younger.

Losing relationships, severing connections was like having a limb amputated. With a large part of her life closed off, sealed behind bricks, Bonnie still found herself suffering with phantom sensations. And she was spending a great deal of time running from those feelings. Feelings of failure. Feelings of regret. She did her best not to let it show.

"Are we still having dinner tonight?" Bonnie rubbed her foot along Damon's hard length. He sucked in a sharp breath as she rubbed the crown of his dick. She knew she shouldn't tease him like this, but lately hadn't been able to help herself.

Gripping her foot to cease its movement, Damon cleared his throat, "Yeah, we're still on for dinner. If you let me get back to work I can be done faster which will then equal more time for us."

Bonnie slipped her foot away, bent forward, seizing hold of Damon's tie. She wound it around her fist drawing him closer, close enough to have his lips in range. Close enough to kiss. Their lips grazed as she said, "Sounds good."

Chuckling darkly, Damon crushed their mouths together, spread his lips before sinking his tongue in her warm, welcoming orifice.

Breaking off the kiss before the frenzy started and clothes started flying, Bonnie wiped her lipstick off Damon's mouth. It was a lost cause. She stuck her foot back into her heel and got to her feet.

"I forgot to ask," Damon straightened his tie, "is Mason Lockwood still running for a seat on the city council?"

"He is. Why?"

"I think he's trying to hit me up for money," Damon explained. "I've been invited to a gala he's hosting next week. Wanna be my date?" he waggled his brows.

Though the fire that burned down Mason's practice had been ruled arson, no arrests had been made. Some speculated Mason sat the fire himself to claim the insurance money to fund his campaign. Others believed it was a disgruntled client, but whoever had been responsible, they lit the figurative fire under Mason to throw his hat into the political ring. The man was looking for sponsors, and any citizen of Mystic Falls, former or current, was being called to cough up their hard-earned cash.

Bonnie had received an invitation as well. One she'd yet to respond to.

Mistaking her silence for apprehension, a muscle ticked in Damon's jaw. "How much longer are we gonna hide what we are to each other?" he asked tersely. "I'm done with keeping us behind closed doors, dammit. If people have a problem with us it's _their_ problem."

"Sorry for wanting to put some distance between ending one relationship and getting into another. You're not the one who has to live in Mystic Falls once we go public."

Damon growled. "You haven't been with Stefan in almost a damn year. You know what? We're not going to get into this right now. I'm not going to air out our business for my nosey ass assistant to overhear," he glared at Caroline who quickly ducked her face behind her monitor.

Bonnie looked through the glass wall separating Damon's office from his assistant's desk and laughed a little. "Fine. We'll duke it out later. I'll see you tonight," she smacked a kiss on his cheek and made her way to the door.

"Hey," Damon called. Bonnie faced him. "I love you."

Green eyes sparkled and Damon felt his chest swell. "I love you, too."

 **Mystic Falls; September—2013**

A RIVER bloated with frogs, larvae, and worms belched burped, and submerged anything in its wake, flowed like sludge. Acidic bubbles ate the riverbanks diminishing it, birthing a parasitic aroma. The shutter of Stefan's camera captured it all.

There were a lot of interesting things happening in the woods behind Mystic Falls High, and Stefan had been contracted by a local environmental conservation org to photograph, as evidence, what a refinery a few miles west was doing to the area. Taking a few more shots he retraced his steps going back the way he came. Through the forest.

Mystic Falls on an entertainment scale may have been boring, but there was no denying its rustic beauty.

Stefan crossed the football field taking in the manicured gridiron. In his head he heard the phantom sounds of helmets crushing against helmets, cleats clomping on the track, whistles blowing, coaches losing their shit when a play was incomplete. It took him back to the days he was a star athlete his freshman year; the only year he actively participated in sports. Not nearly as tall and muscular as he was now, but decent enough to attract the eye of cheerleaders, majorettes, or anyone who wanted to fuck a football player.

If only life could be that simple again.

Climbing into his vintage Porsche he finally tuned up and washed, Stefan drove home. On the way he called the director of the conservation org to let her know he'd upload the images later that night after tweaking the specs.

It felt good to have a purpose again, direction, he thought as he bobbed his head in time to Rick Ross. His days were no longer spent in a detached stupor and his nights weren't spent loathing his crippling loneliness. Losing out on that studio Stefan likened to day one of having amnesia. He had no clue how to rebound and not find himself stuck, perpetually chasing a dream that didn't want to be caught. He understood people heard the word 'no' numerous times a day. No didn't mean never just not right now.

Accepting that, he started looking for work to build up his profile. Started combing the streets again capturing anything that made him ravenous for more angles, to tell a story through film.

"Maybe I should make a movie," he thought aloud as he pulled into the boardinghouse driveway.

It wasn't until he entered the foyer and shrugged off his jacket that Stefan remembered he had a houseguest this week. Evidence of that were the open bag of chips, dip, and two beer bottles littered on the coffee table, and the converse sneakers poking from beneath the couch.

Gritting his teeth, he dumped his camera bag and jacket on the blood orange damask sofa, and followed the drone of music to the backyard.

Slowly he lumbered closer until he reached the hot tub. It took everything Stefan possessed to make sure his eyes stayed above her neck, but he already knew her bathing suit top was black and had various strings that wrapped around her delicate shoulders and neck. She had piled her hair atop of her head, and sipped what suspiciously looked like his favorite bourbon.

Elena Gilbert squeaked at his sudden appearance. She had been too busy swaying her head, eyes closed, while singing off key. "You're back."

"So I am. I see you're making yourself right at home."

Pink dots formed on her olive cheeks. "Yeah, sorry about the mess. I have every intention of cleaning it up."

"Un-hun."

Stefan almost asked if she had gotten word from her contractor if she could move back into her house. She was having the place renovated, and the old wiring was being replaced which meant no working electricity for a couple of days. Elena had been a guest for three but it seemed longer to Stefan.

They had never been close. Cordial and sometimes tossing barbs and jokes when required to socialize, Stefan and Elena never made any attempts to hang out. Her living in his family home was a bit…weird. Elena had promised to stay out of the way, make herself scarce when she wasn't working, and so far she upheld her end of the bargain. It seemed today they'd be forced to say more than "hi", "bye", and "do you need anything?" to one another.

"Got any plans tonight?" Elena began conversationally.

"Other than processing some shots, not really. Why?"

"I was going to head to the Grill. You can join me if you want. Actually, I insist that you do."

Stefan stuffed his hands in his pockets, "Nah. I've had my share of restaurant cuisine for a while."

"I'll cook," Elena volunteered and abruptly got to her feet revealing…Stefan forgot himself, ogled her dripping wet form and wondered if she was bald or had the landing strip because her bikini bottoms left no margin for error.

Stefan turned away, ears a bright red. He listened as the water sluiced down her body while she climbed out of the tub. Heard the rustle of fabric as she slipped on her robe. Heard the tell-tale slap of flip flops traipsing across the concrete.

"Maybe I should assist to make sure what you cook is actually edible," he quipped. Stefan faced her again when he felt it was safe.

Elena shoved him. "I might not be culinary gifted, but I have enough know-how to whip up something that won't have you hunched over the commode, thank you very much."

"And Icarus shouldn't have flown so close to the sun on wings made of wax."

Elena cut her eyes at Stefan but chuckled reluctantly. "Talk shit all you need to, Stefan but I promise you'll be moaning by the end of the night," her jaw dropped once she realized how that sounded.

Stefan merely pulled a 'yeah right' face.

"That didn't come out right," she blushed and stepped inside the boardinghouse. Grabbing the lapels of her robe, Elena dug her toe into the floor. "I'm going to get dressed. I'll meet you in the kitchen in twenty minutes."

Elena showered and donned a long sleeved Henley that had a deep V-neck that showed off plenty of boob, and her favorite pair of yoga pants. She left her feet bare and twisted her hair into a messy knot on the crown of her head. Standing in front of the mirror, she put on cherry flavored Chapstick, a little mascara then debated about spritzing on some perfume. Her nose wrinkled. That would have been too much.

Ambling to the kitchen she wasn't surprised Stefan already had the center island covered with pots, pans, and fresh ingredients. She was handed a knife and told to get cracking on chopping.

Elena struggled with slicing the carrots into little sticks, too enamored with the way Stefan sliced and diced as if he trained with Emeril or Gordon Ramsay.

"You're really good at this," she commented.

"I learned a few tricks over the years. But I really honed my skills when I was living in Montana."

"Right," she murmured though she had no real idea of what Stefan's life had been like two years ago. She heard bits and pieces but never the full story. "What was it like living there?"

Looking up, forehead bunched like an accordion, Stefan held Elena's gaze before concentrating on spearing the knife through a bell pepper. "Less complicated even with a fucked up memory. It was cool for the most part. Quiet."

"Did you make a lot friends…meet someone special?"

"Yeah," was Stefan's monosyllabic response.

Sensing the tension the topic stirred in him, Elena dropped it. "Are you going to move to back to California?"

"I don't know. I might stay here for a while. Why? You think this city is too small for me and Bonnie?"

That's precisely what Elena thought. "No," she hedged. "I just thought you wanted to get started on opening your studio. Mystic Falls doesn't offer much in the way of opportunity."

"No, it doesn't," Stefan agreed and dropped the diced vegetables into a hot pan to sear and sauté. "I want to build up my portfolio some more. Maybe trying to open a studio in competitive ass Los Angeles was biting off more than I can chew, but I can start an empire here and expand."

"Well, there are several nurses at the hospital who are getting married. I could give them your number. Unless wedding photography isn't your thing."

"I'm in no position to turn down jobs. I had some cards made," he trailed off, feeling self-conscious for some annoying reason.

"I'd be happy to pass them out for you," Elena beamed.

Inclining his head, Stefan uttered, "Thanks."

Deeming it too quiet besides the occasional bang of a pot or hiss of a pan, Elena turned on some music and bopped around the kitchen. Tried to initiate the bump with Stefan who threatened to snap a towel at her.

"Here try this," he held a wooden spoon filled with chicken broth out to Elena who blew on it to cool.

She wrapped her lips around the spoon and moaned in appreciation as the warm broth coursed down her throat. Stefan, who watched with rapt attention, swallowed then ducked his head.

"That is…really, _really_ good. If you're not careful you might spoil me then I'll be forced to kidnap you, and stow you away to my house once the renovations are done."

Stefan smirked and let his gaze trail up her long figure. Elena's mouth dried up at the blatant perusal.

"Dinner's ready," he said.

They settled on the couch to eat their food in companionable silence as the latest episode of _The Bates Motel_ unfolded on the screen. For Elena it was one of the nicer nights she's had in a while. Dating was a game of chances. The pressure to be anything but yourself was high despite the advice to be yourself. It was nice being around a guy she wasn't trying to convince to date her on a consistent basis. Though she did have to remind herself this wasn't a date. She and Stefan were merely tentative friends.

Drowsiness kicked in and they were out like a light. At around two in the morning, Elena woke up and realized she was curled around Stefan like a pillow. The shock of their closeness made her heart pound and other parts flare with awareness. She absently wiped her chin of any possible drool, and for a second watched the subtle rise and fall of Stefan's chest. Warmth spread over her and for one wild second, she allowed her mind to wonder what it would be like if…

She must have made a noise because Stefan became conscious, and not long after, cognizant of their entangled limbs.

Everything seemed to become suspended. Ripe. In Elena's head she was saying "he's your best friend's ex-husband; he's your best friend's ex-husband", but her body was saying: Bitch it's been eight months.

Besides did Bonnie have any right to get mad if they explored whatever this was? Or maybe this was just all in Elena's head. She was the queen of sending and receiving mixed signals.

It didn't matter, she decided. Girl code had kicked Elena in the kidney and she nearly leapt off the couch.

But…Stefan's hands gripped her hips, staying her. Elena hitched a brow. Anticipation made her tingle. Her fingers flexed against Stefan's chest that she had to admit felt very nice. She couldn't read the expression on his face. He wasn't leering and, if anything, he might still be half asleep. Then the tiniest shift occurred. A beckon, a summons and her head was lowering closer to Stefan's, and before she could count to three they were kissing.

She broke it off maybe a minute too late. "We can't do this."

Stefan remained silent, leaving her to figure out which direction this went.

"You're my friend's ex."

He tilted his head against the arm of the sofa, waited.

"We shouldn't," but Elena made no move to climb off him. "We…shouldn't," she caved.

They were kissing again.

Moaning and whimpering at the onslaught, Elena curled her toes and threaded her fingers through Stefan's hair. She sighed when he switched their positions, putting her underneath him. Her legs widened to form a cradle for him to fit which he did. She wiggled around unconsciously searching for…ah yes, she found it, and her eyes nearly popped open.

Back arched, neck arched, Elena offered herself up. Consequences be damned.

 **New York**

THE IRON HORSE between his legs vibrated as he hit the clutch, lurching the two-wheeled machine faster. Every now and a then he'd check his side view mirror just to make sure a cop hadn't snuck up on him. Zooming through traffic lights, Damon eased his motorcycle cleanly and smoothly to a stop outside of the hottest new restaurant to grace Manhattan. Pulling off his helmet, he climbed off the bike then assisted Bonnie to her feet.

They were bustled inside and led to a dark booth that offered a panoramic view of the eatery that teemed with people.

Bonnie's eyes grew big when a few New York Knicks players strolled by their table. They were well-dressed walking trees who exuded the type of swagger and confidence that came with being multi-millionaires before thirty. And in their entourage, amid the fast talking managers and agents, were the requisite racially ambiguous hourglass shaped femme fatales.

Across the restaurant, servers held supersized bottles of alcohol with sparklers attached, winding their way through the tables to a specific section. Someone was celebrating a birthday. Camera lights flashed, a chorus of Happy Birthday rang out, applause. No one who was here had merely arrived to eat. But to celebrate, to be seen, or spy what celebs might patronize the eatery.

"This is nice," Bonnie sing songed.

"I'm glad you love it, babe."

"I hope the food is as good as they're charging for it," she remarked dryly.

"Would I let you eat some nasty shit?"

"Yes. You remember that place outside of New Haven? Beautiful, upscale décor, but everything we ordered tasted and smelled like day old ass."

Damon groaned a laugh at the memory. "All right so I flubbed on that place. I'm allowed one poor restaurant choice. But I was duped. It had a lot of four and five star reviews."

"Yeah," Bonnie squeezed lemon juice into her water, "they were probably posted by management."

Their server arrived to take their food and drink order. They ordered a bottle of Sangiovese to go with the antipasti they'd share as an appetizer before moving to their main course of smoked salmon for Bonnie and a medium rare tomahawk steak for Damon.

"What do you want to do for your birthday this year?" Bonnie asked once their server left.

Damon leered, "I want to do _you_ under a baking Mexican sun."

Bonnie rolled her eyes, "Why am I not surprised? Seriously, what do you want to do?"

"You know I'm never pressed to celebrate my birthday. Just the two of us being together is all I want. I have everything else. I've done everything else."

Bonnie twisted her lips, "You've done everything?"

Seeing where she was going with that, Damon backpedaled. "Within reason," he amended. "Really, it doesn't matter what we do, how we celebrate, so long as we're together that's all I care about."

"You're easy to please."

"Sometimes."

Bonnie stroked the back of her boyfriend's hand. "Let's play our game. Tell me something I don't know about you, Salvatore. And something not sex related," she added when Damon opened his mouth to reply.

He pouted. "You already know almost everything about me."

"Almost, key word there."

"Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?"

"No, I'm not so quit stalling," Bonnie nudged him.

Damon ruminated for a second. He ran his fingers along Bonnie's forearm, pressed his thigh into hers. Luckily for him he was given a bit more time to answer as their appetizer and wine was delivered. He sat and observed as his girlfriend dug into the antipasti and licked her lips clean of the pesto sauce. "I didn't cry at my mother's funeral."

Shocked, Bonnie nearly choked on her food. She roughly swallowed. "Why?"

Shrugging, Damon reached for his glass of wine and nearly emptied it. "I don't know and to this day I have no idea why. Stefan cried. Even my gotdamn father cried. Me? Nothing. I was sad. I felt alone, sure. I missed her. I don't even think I was angry at my father though I blamed him for her death. I guess I was just numb. At first I thought I didn't love her."

"Why'd you think that?"

"People cry at funerals. It means they loved the person who died. At least that was my thinking at the time."

"Did you cry after?"

Damon shook his head. "Forty-eight hours later I was put on a plane and shipped back to boarding school."

"I thought you were close to your mom." Bonnie was aware the Salvatore boys had major issues with their now deceased father. Yet she had lived under the belief their relationship was better with their mother.

"We were a family for appearances sake," Damon plunged his fork into the antipasti. "I knew my mother loved me, but there was a disconnect. I don't think it was my father she wanted to marry. I snooped through her things one day and found a bunch of love letters from someone who signed with only his initial. J. Don't know who he was but it was clear he loved my mother. _A lot_."

"How do you think she felt about him?"

Damon replied after forking pasta into his mouth. "She kept his letters knowing what it would cost her if my dad found them. I'd say the feelings were mutual."

"Do you think…do you think if she hadn't gotten sick she would have struck up the courage to leave your dad to be with J?"

"Probably. The funny thing, I wouldn't have been mad at her. Finally she would have done something for herself."

Conversation lulled for a moment. Damon hadn't meant to bring up such a heavy topic on their last night together, yet he was relieved to have gotten something off his chest that bothered him. Periodically.

Bonnie twirled her fork, "Since we're on the topic of mothers, I haven't spoken to mine in," she counted up the months, "it's been _years_."

Damon's brows mashed together as he studied her stupefied expression. "Do you even remember the last thing you two talked about?"

"I don't. I don't even remember where she called me from. She moves around a lot. She might not have even been in the country."

"Do you miss her?"

"Hard to miss someone you don't even know."

When the bill came, Bonnie slapped her card down before Damon could reach for his.

"Are you sure?"

"I can cover it, Damon. I'm not hurting for cash."

"Bringing you here was my idea. I should pay."

"You paid for my flight and whatever else I may have needed. Let me cover dinner."

Stefan had been generous in the divorce and they split the profits of the sale of their home down the middle. Bonnie had investments, had her own coin. And the few times a year she splurged happened around her birthday and Christmas. She could afford to pay for their date and not cringe at the hit to her account.

While she signed the receipt, Damon nuzzled into her. "I don't want you to go. Who else is going to take me out on extravagant dinners?"

"I'm sure there's some pampered granny sitting in her high rise right now wishing she had a hot young stud that's well hung to make her feel young again." she laughed.

"If she's not Betty White I ain't interested."

Bonnie giggled and kissed him full on the mouth.

Like always, Damon wasn't just satisfied with a kiss. He had to nibble and explore, bite and fondle whatever he could reach.

"What the _hell_ is this?!" a familiar British accent shrieked.

Bonnie whipped her head, eyes enlarging by the second. Standing on the opposite side of the table was an incensed Rebekah Mikaelson-Donovan and her equally irate husband and Stefan's best friend, Matt.

Numerous questions flew through Bonnie's head. The first, what were they doing here? The second, how could she diffuse the situation before it drew attention and got ugly? And the third, could she melt through the floor to escape the embarrassment? Bonnie knew Rebekah. Knew that when she was ready to have it out she'd have it out and didn't give a damn who saw or heard.

Rebekah pointed an accusing finger. " _He's_ the reason you and Stefan are no longer together?" The disgust clear in her scathing tone.

"Nice to see you, too, Rebekah," Damon spat through clenched teeth, jaw ticking.

Defrosting, Bonnie clamored out of the booth, grabbed Rebekah by the wrist and hauled ass to the bathroom.

"How long, Bonnie?" Rebekah yanked her arm away. "Does Stefan know?"

"He does."

" _Please_ tell me you didn't start fucking his brother when he came back from the bloody dead!"

"No."

"I suppose it doesn't really matter when whatever you're doing with Damon started. It's the fact it started at all. This isn't you, Bonnie. You're a psychologist. You should know better."

"Newsflash, I'm human. Being a psychologist doesn't make me infallible."

Rebekah clucked her tongue, unimpressed. "I never pegged you to be a cold-hearted bitch but I can be wrong sometimes. If you wanted to move on, fine, but with Stefan's brother? Really, Bonnie?"

The sting of that rebuke ricocheted around Bonnie hitting each and every significant and insignificant part of her. From her heart to her psyche, from hair follicle to pink toenail, she felt stripped. The fact she was being shamed in full view of the public was just an added bonus. However, if she couldn't have the guts to go after what she wanted or defend what she had, then she didn't deserve it, she realized.

Bonnie took a step forward that had Rebekah taking one back.

"Call me a bitch, call me a whore, call me a slut I really don't give a damn because nothing you say will _ever_ compare to what I think about myself. What's happening or has happened between Damon, Stefan, and myself is between _us_. All you need to know is I've apologized to Stefan. I'm not laughing at or reveling in his pain. So I don't need your judgement. I judge myself enough."

Arms folded, lips pressed together Rebekah grappled for something to say. She still didn't think it was right for Bonnie and Damon to be together, but what could she do? Besides voice her objection?

She chuckled guilelessly. "I feel so stupid because I hatched this ridiculous plan of trying to get you and Stefan back together. I haven't meddled with anyone's relationship since high school, yet there I was coming up with scheme after scheme to get you two facing each other and talking again."

Hearing Rebekah's matchmaking confession sparked something in Bonnie.

"Did you…did you have something to do with the fire at Mason's office that essentially destroyed our divorce papers?"

Rebekah gaped at Bonnie in disbelief. "When I said scheme I meant setting you and Stefan up on a lunch date, not arson. Why would you think I'd do something like that?"

Bonnie stared at her drolly, "As evidenced by my love life people do unconventional things."

"So wait, does that mean you and Stefan are still married?" A flare of hope began to burn in the center of Rebekah's chest. Maybe there was still time to salvage things.

Bonnie shook her head. "We retained another lawyer. I re-signed the papers. They've been finalized and filed with the court. It's done."

Shaking her head, Rebekah exhaled. "I don't know much about Damon, but I do know you, Bonnie. You may be happy now, but one day the guilt will catch up to you. I hope your integrity won't be in shambles when it does."

 **Mystic Falls**

ELENA WOKE UP alone in bed to her chagrin. Stretching her arms above her head, a grin broadened her features until she remembered what happened and most importantly with _whom_. Dread filled her belly that Elena tried to push aside.

Naturally the thought ran through her head that last night was merely revenge. That things crossed a line with Stefan because he consciously or unconsciously wanted to hurt Bonnie. Feeling used, Elena was no stranger to that. Hopefully that wasn't the case.

The world didn't end and no one needed to know. Still though, her conscience nagged at her. Nagged so much she shot up and swung her legs out of the bed.

Elena saw something that made her blood run cold.

"My hair. Ohmygod! _My hair!_ "

It was spread all over the floor, all over her. Chunks of it. Her fingers flew to her scalp and came away with more severed layers of shiny mahogany hair.

Flying out of bed and into the in-suite bathroom, Elena turned on the light and screamed Sarah Michelle Gellar style. Only, what was scrawled across the mirror in red lipstick wasn't "I know what you did last summer", but one degrading word.

 _ **CUNT.**_

 **A/N: Thank you for reading and for reviewing. I appreciate y'all so much. I say this all the time but really, let me know what you think. See you next time, kittens.**


	4. Talons

**Mystic Falls; September—2013**

SITTING IN THE dark had become her thing. It wasn't because she suffered from migraines or couldn't tolerate light; the dark provided a shelter of sorts that _she_ found calming.

She sat poised behind her desk scrolling through photo after photo. She could hardly tell the difference between her endless browsing of someone's blog, twitter, or Instagram and modern day stalking. Yet this was her ritual of sorts. Coming home, toeing off her shoes, soaking in the bath, eating a nuked meal, and settling in for the night to get caught up on what she missed.

Pictures told stories, revealed things. She was positive the demise of any relationship could be found in pictures. Two people standing too close together, or standing farther apart than usual. Bright smiles that became wane through the years. Someone in the background looking oddly at those posing for the camera. It was there if you knew where to look.

When revelations weren't forthcoming, she found herself comparing and contrasting. It hurt. It really did. Seeing her look so happy with someone else. It was all artifice, she was sure of it, and she'd show them what real, true, unconditional love really looked like. That love didn't come in the form of pale skin, blue eyes or black hair.

Speaking of hair.

She opened the middle drawer of her desk, retrieved an envelope. Opening the flap, she moistened her lips and slipped her index and middle finger inside and pulled out…a tiny bundle of mahogany hair.

"You'll lose more than this if you keep fucking with Stefan, bitch," she whispered to the dark. "I guarantee you will."

::::

"You were _attacked_. You have every right to be upset. Regardless of it being hair or a leg someone _touched you_ without your consent or knowledge. This can't be written off or brushed under the rug."

Elena sniffled and blew her nose. "I know." She self-consciously ran her fingers through her hair, still unused to its shortness. Elena felt bald.

There had been no question about her hightailing it out of the boardinghouse. She packed up her shit and made tracks to the best hotel in the city that offered twenty-four hour security. Trying to save her pockets a few dollars, Elena wished she had just found lodgings at the hotel to start. She'd still have her long hair and not an asymmetrical bob. Her stylist had been able to salvage the damage that had been done the best he could.

"I just want to know why someone would do this to you." Bonnie settled on the couch in the small seating area.

The question of the hour. Elena had her theories that she was playing close to the vest for the moment. "I've already been questioned by the police. They asked if I have any enemies. What kind of enemies does a pediatrician rack up?" she scoffed then shivered at the image of someone sneaking into her room in the middle of the night, watching her sleep for however long before determining she was out cold enough to start hacking away at her hair.

How long did it take? How had she had not felt a single cut of the scissors, felt someone rooting around her head for more hair to chop off?

She jumped at Bonnie rubbing her shoulder consolingly. They lapsed into a long silence with a comment here and there interspersed with a list of suspects ranging from people Elena had beef with back in high school to whom she suspected might secretly hate her today.

"Do you think," Bonnie paused carefully, "do you think whoever did this, might have been trying to send a message not to you, but maybe to Stefan?"

That idea had run across Elena's mind. What it boiled down to was, someone saw them last night and hated what they saw. She couldn't help but wonder if the woman seated next to her might have done it, but that notion was cancelled because Elena knew for a fact Bonnie had been out of town. She had even suspected Stefan. He could have flipped the fuck out once the realization of what they had done hit him. But the shock on his face when he returned from a run was too real to be fabricated. Some unknown person had done this.

Another shudder coursed through the doctor. "Maybe," she finally answered.

Looking at this from a psychological standpoint, Bonnie knew what psychopathic behavior looked like. And that kind of behavior _always_ escalated. Elena was known the town over for her Rapunzel locks. The fact she was single, beautiful, and temporarily living with an equally single and handsome man triggered the attacker to deface what he or she deemed as an opponent to not only lessen Elena's desirability, but to declare Stefan as theirs.

"Hypothetically speaking, if they were sending a message to Stefan," Bonnie deduced, "I think you were seen as a threat and they wanted to scare you off. Cutting your hair and scrawling that word across the mirror was the warning. If you ignore the warning…"

"I might get stabbed or shot next," the doe-eyed doctor gulped and buried her face in her hands. "I can't believe this is happening because we…" Elena pressed her lips together.

Bonnie eyed her to which Elena fidgeted under her scrutiny. It didn't escape Bonnie's attention that from the moment of her arrival, Elena hadn't been able to look her directly in the eye. Why? What happened on Elena's third night at the boardinghouse that warranted a violent response in return and had her best friend ducking eye contact?

The guesses made Bonnie short of breath. But she wouldn't start throwing around any accusations.

"Stefan hasn't received any cryptic or ominous messages?" she went on to ask. "Have any strangers popped up at the house?"

"I don't know," Elena retorted, exasperated. "He hasn't said anything to me, and I think he might have mentioned that to Sheriff Forbes when she was there to take my initial statement."

"Have you talked to him since?"

Stefan had called to make sure she moved into the hotel all right. Besides that, Elena hadn't heard from or seen him. She shook her head in the negative.

Bonnie said, "Is there anything else you want to tell me, Elena?"

Startled, Elena jerked her head up and stared at Bonnie with wild eyes. "No."

"Are you sure? Look, I know you're scared. I'd be, too. You know I'm here for you if there's something you want to say but don't want to say to the police."

"I'm not hiding anything," the taste of that lie made it difficult for Elena to swallow. "I certainly don't know who broke into the boardinghouse and turned me into Chucky. If I had a clue I'd scream it from the rooftops."

"All right," Bonnie backed off.

::::

STEFAN SALVATORE stood under the pelting water, one hand smashed against the cold tile, the other gripping the back of his neck. It had been a while since he had a flashback of falling down that ravine in Montana, but it hit him suddenly, and he winced as he replayed his body colliding violently with rocks and tree roots that jutted from the cliff. Three broken ribs, two pints of spilled blood, a cracked femur, dislocated shoulder, broken ulna, and skull fractures that led to brain swelling. That had been the tally.

He opened his mouth to let out a silent scream. Then cursed because why now was this happening? Could it be Elena's attack set off the flashback? That seemed incredibly selfish for his past trauma to rear its head the day after someone broke into his home and practically defaced Elena. But it was here. It was happening. He was essentially alone again. She left for her own safety and he didn't blame her. Stefan would have left as well but where could he go? The boardinghouse was it. So he took steps to fortify it. Cameras had been installed, motion sensors for the lights, an actual alarm, bars placed on the windows in the basement. He wasn't Bruce Wayne but he was close enough.

Blindly he groped for the faucet and turned off the showerhead. Stefan reached for his towel and wrapped it around his hips, and pushed open the frosted glass door.

A painful burst of pain right behind his left eye socket had him stumbling to the sink which he gripped for leverage. He fumbled for the bottle of aspirin he purchased that very afternoon, popped the top and washed two powdery white pills down with water from the sink.

On the counter his phone charged. He stared at the object wondering. No. He wouldn't call. Running to her for anything was no longer an option. Straightening, Stefan took an inventory of the scars that told the story of his great big fall. He fingered the one by his hip and could have sworn he felt a flare of pain. It was probably psychosomatic.

Clearing his throat, he picked up his toothbrush. He had a gala to get ready for.

::::

BONNIE WAS PUTTING on her makeup when Damon stepped out of the shower, toweling his hair dry. Their eyes met in the mirror where he grinned and she smirked and let her orbs travel south following the muscled ridges of his torso, the happy trail of hair that led to the muscle dangling between his legs.

"Fiend," Damon teased. "Should I shave?" he sidled beside her at the sink once he toweled the rest of his body dry.

"I like your scruff. Keep it."

"Consider it kept," Damon picked up his toothbrush. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"It's now or never."

They were making their romantic debut. Bonnie was positive she was making a bigger deal out of her love life than the denizens of Mystic Falls actually gave a damn about. However, she still hadn't shaken the aftereffects of her run-in with Rebekah in New York. No one would probably accost her in public but might make a condescending, snide, or rude comment hoping to elicit a reaction out of her. Hopefully not.

"It'll be fine. Oh, I forgot to ask how your visit with Elena went. She still freaked out about what happened?"

"Yep. It's been less than a week. The police have no leads." Bonnie also hadn't shaken the feeling something went down with Elena and Stefan. She tried putting it out of her mind, but it wouldn't go away.

"Will she be at Mason's fundraiser tonight?"

"She said she'd be there," Bonnie shrugged and added bronzer to her T-zone. "She doesn't want whoever attacked her to think they won by scaring her into a life of seclusion."

"Hmm. I wonder if my little brother will be in attendance, or if he's going to keep a low profile, too." Damon began brushing his teeth. "Doesn't look so good a guest in his home was violated and nothing was done to him."

"You don't think he did that to Elena, do you?" Bonnie's brow furrowed with skepticism.

"Stefan is many things, but chopping off someone's hair and writing a slur across a mirror…not his style. Then again…"

"What?"

"Did it never bother you how normal he was after having a traumatic head injury?"

Bonnie angled her body toward Damon, digging her hip into the counter. "You think behavioral side effects are manifesting a full _three_ years later?"

Now it was Damon's turn to shrug. He rinsed out his mouth. "You're the head expert between the two of us. You tell me. The human body is a strange thing, wouldn't you say?"

It had been a concern of Bonnie's when they first learned Stefan had survived a fall that should have killed him, and that he came back healthier than he left. The medicinal practices of the Quileutes had been nothing less than miraculous. But what if…?

"If he shows up at the gala tonight, why don't you talk to him to feel things out?" Bonnie slyly suggested.

Damon gave her a mocking stare. "How 'bout I don't and say I did."

"Damon."

"Come on," he kissed her cheek. "We need to hurry up and get out of here."

Together they moved with uniformity occasionally or purposefully bumping into one another; a clever tactic to sneak in a kiss or the quick nibble of skin. Bonnie expertly tied his bowtie. He zipped up her dress. She put on his cufflinks while Damon put in her earrings. It was moments like this Damon thought of forever. He liked that Bonnie needed him even for the little things, probably _because_ of the little things. And he sure as hell enjoyed the fact she wanted him around as much as he yearned to be around her.

He'd never had a relationship like this, and though at times he found it scary and it left him feeling off-kilter, Damon wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Leaning against the door to their bedroom, Bonnie sighed contentedly as Damon did his final primping in the mirror. Tweaking his black hair to make sure it looked as if he hadn't done anything to it, checking his face at every angle as he sprayed on cologne. Finding everything in order, Damon winked at himself.

"Vain much," Bonnie rolled her eyes.

"Yes, and I'm proud of it. You should be proud, too."

"Oh, yeah and why's that?"

Damon wrapped arm around her waist, hauled her closer. "Because we're two sides of the same coin. We're more alike than you like to think."

"Well, why don't we mosey our like-minded asses to the car."

Bonnie yelped at the slap Damon delivered to her ass. She grabbed her wrap and purse while Damon made sure anything electrical was turned off. Lacing their fingers together, they left the condo and slid into the idling town car waiting for them.

The nerves were back, making Bonnie's stomach churn violently. She prayed everything would go smoothly tonight.

::::

STONE SKY RISTORANTE was aptly named for its hand crafted stone façade made of slate and basalt stone; however, what gave the ristorante its uniqueness wasn't the menu, drinks, or impeccable hospitality of the wait staff, but the oculus in the center of the building kept open during good weather to let natural sun and moonlight in.

Slipping one hand into his tuxedo pockets, Stefan followed the flow of traffic through the restaurant to the courtyard where Mason Lockwood's black tie fundraiser was being thrown.

Stefan had been thoroughly frisked before given clearance to enter. He meandered through the crowd that coupled together in groups trading secrets and telling lies. He shook a few hands, kissed a few cheeks before finding sanctuary on a quiet balcony.

::

Their arms were woven together, fingers linked. Heads turned in their wake, but it wasn't for the reason Bonnie thought which caused her muscles to tighten with apprehension; the scandal of arriving on the other Salvatore brother's arm. Heads turned because they were a striking couple. So striking they weren't immediately recognized.

Damon, naturally, strutted with his chest puffed out, shoulders back, and spine straight. His pleasure at being admired could be misconstrued as arrogance or conceit…The older people in the room, the ones who knew his parents had pegged him to be a habitual fuck up, a rich version of poor white trash, never expected him to amount to anything. He more than proved every single last one of those bastards wrong.

"We're not flaunting anything but merely showing them a small piece of who we are," Damon spoke into Bonnie's ear. "We control the narrative, angel. Who gives a shit what anyone has to think?"

Infinitesimally, Bonnie nodded in agreement and tightened her fingers around Damon's. Together they strolled deeper into the courtyard, saying hello or smiling at whoever acknowledged them. Yet Bonnie couldn't escape feeling like a bright red target had been painted on her back. People were whispering behind their hands, staring, and a few even pointed. Bonnie nearly tugged her hand free to escape, but Damon sensing her urge to flee, tilted her chin and kissed her.

From his perch, Stefan inhaled sharply. He's done it. He survived seeing them kiss. One obstacle cleared but how many to go until he was desensitized? Absently he rubbed a spot above his heart as he tracked her journey across the courtyard, getting his fill of Bonnie in the svelte flesh tone gown encrusted with hundreds of carefully placed Swarovski crystals.

"Stefan? Stefan Salvatore? How the hell are you, man?"

Startled, Stefan turned his head and his features softened in recognition. "Levi Castle? Shit."

The two shook hands and gave one another a one-armed embrace. Levi hadn't changed a bit, was still a dead ringer for actor Daniel Henney. He and Stefan had been thick as thieves in high school, lost touch after graduation, but reconnected thanks to social media, and whenever Levi visited his little sister who still called Mystic Falls home.

"It's been what, five years?" Levi asked as he pulled away.

"Something like that." Stefan noticed a man standing a little behind Levi. Tall, dark-skinned, and broad shouldered with locks pulled into a ponytail.

Levi reached back to wrap his arm around his plus one drawing him to his side, "Oh, let me introduce you to the love of my life. Stef this is my baby, Trevante Smith."

Stefan extended a hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

Levi grinned like a little boy as his eyes shone with pride. But then he started to look around the balcony, "Somebody is missing…Where's Bonnie?"

A muscle flexed in Stefan's jaw.

Down below, Damon nabbed two glasses of champagne. He and Bonnie literally bumped into Mayor Hamilton Hayes who extended his hand as if waiting for them to kiss his ring. Damon offered the man a firm handshake that had the older gentleman grunting whereas Bonnie air kissed the Mayor's wife, Sylvie who began making inquiries about who styled her for the event. Her surprise Bonnie had picked out her dress and done her makeup herself would be comical if didn't reek of pretention.

The Hayes' rise to power meant the downfall of the Lockwoods who were chomping at the bit to retake the mayoral mansion. Bonnie covertly scoped the courtyard and saw Tyler standing near the circle his uncle and father were entrenched in, looking dapper but miserable. He caught her gaze, raised his glass before rolling his eyes at his family.

::

"We're not together anymore. We're divorced," Stefan informed.

Levi's slanted eyes widened. "You're fuckin' with me."

Stefan shook his head, slid a hand in his pocket. "I wish I was but I'm not."

"What the hell happened?"

My brother, Stefan refrained from saying. "It's complicated. How have you been?"

It was at that moment Bonnie happened to glance up just as Stefan took a step out of the shadows, and stood under the beam of the halogen lights. Like a magnet he turned his head toward her as well.

:::::

BONNIE HAD BEEN prepared to smile until she remembered. They weren't friends but they weren't bitter enemies either; so what would be the proper greeting that wouldn't seem like she was rubbing salt into the wound? She murmured, "Stefan is here."

"So he is," Damon deadpanned.

Bonnie looked at her boyfriend over her shoulder. "I think now would be a good time to talk to him."

"He's not going to want to talk to me, Bonnie. I rather cut my losses."

"You should still say something. You can't go the whole night being under the same roof and not speak to each other. You're brothers."

"I don't need the constant reminder, all right? I know we're blood. I know he's my kid brother. It's been months and nothing's changed."

Facing him head on, Bonnie frowned, "And nothing will if you don't put effort into keeping some semblance of a relationship alive."

Chuckling lowly, Damon's eyes rolled. "Kind of hard to do that when the person you're trying to keep the lines of communication open with constantly pays you dust. My brother hates my guts, and no amount of shooting the shit and pretending everything is fine is going to change that."

"And if you give up what kind of message will that send?"

Damon took a breath. "This is the cycle Stefan and I go through every few years. Give it more time and everything will blow over."

Bonnie wasn't convinced. She was no dummy to their history, and the reasons they fell out in the past. It had _never_ been over a woman. "Will you just try, please?"

Smiling tightly, Damon inched closer, "You wanna help bridge the gap? Here's what you can do, stay out of it."

With that lovely advice, Damon was drawn into another conversation.

Bonnie looked back up to where she spotted Stefan. Unsurprisingly he was gone.

::::

THE WORDS "stay away" hadn't been scrawled across the mirror though it could have been implied. Maybe it was twisted, but the idea of going against a clear warning made Elena Gilbert feel…rebellious. A feeling she hadn't delved into since high school.

And feeling rebellious she had to look the part.

With the shorter and edgier hairstyle, she went against her usual grain of wearing something that erred on the side of sexy conservatism. Her lithe, olive hued figure was cinched into a salmon colored bodycon dress that paid homage to her perky breasts and long legs.

She garnered plenty of appreciative stares from men who were twice her age, a few turned up noses from their wives, but there was only one person's opinion she wanted. One's attention she hoped to snare.

The niggling feeling of guilt rose again. It culminated into palpitations when she saw Bonnie. Elena quickly looked away and searched the sea of faces for Stefan.

"…now the man of the hour, the one who is going to revamp Mystic Falls for the better, I present to you, ladies and gentleman, Mason Lockwood!"

Seemed she arrived just in the nick of time to hear Mason's impassioned speech about how he'd be a wonderful civil servant. Elena was far from interested in listening.

Applause rang out as the lawyer bounded up on the constructed stage, waving like a well-groomed politician.

Now was her chance. Stefan was alone, nursing a glass of cognac. Pulling down the skirt of her dress that loved to ride up her thigh any chance it got, Elena maneuvered through the horde and arrived just two feet shy of standing in front of Stefan.

His brows arched once he got a good look at her. Elena felt her entire body blushing under his perusal that began on a note of curiosity, but ended on the broad end of smoldering. Already moisture gathered between her legs reminding Elena tonight had been another first for her. She had gone commando.

Elena popped open her clutch as she cleared the distance between them, leaving hardly any room. His hard body made her want to whimper. Instead, she bit down on a corner of her lip, extracted the extra keycard to her room and slid it into his pocket, spoke into his ear. "I'm in room 611 at the Van Dussen. Use it anytime."

Elena moved her hand to cop a feel of the rigid length in his pants. Smiling, she took a step but Stefan seized her wrist. Their eyes locked.

However, just a little over Elena's shoulder Stefan zeroed in on Bonnie. Her back was to him and he could see his brother staring down at her. Unintentionally, Stefan squeezed Elena's wrist. The pressure became tenfold as he tailed his brother's hand that smoothed down the curve of Bonnie's spine.

Elena winced, "Stefan?"

He barely heard her transfixed as he was on Damon who gripped a handful of Bonnie's ass. Tearing his eyes away from the display, Stefan pinned Elena with a stare that was a confusing and weirdly thrilling mix of hate and lust. It didn't last long. His features evened out and he released her wrist.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this."

"But…"

Stefan retrieved her card and held it between his index and middle fingers. Elena snatched it from him feeling horribly rejected.

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

Fighting back tears, Elena glowered, "You're going to have to get over her at some point."

"This has nothing to do with her."

"Like hell it doesn't."

"We're _divorced_. Can't get any more over someone than that."

"You divorced a person, not feelings. That takes time. Be realistic about this, Stefan."

He stepped closer to Elena, their noses almost touching. "If I came to your room I'd only be using you. Is that what you want?"

"Preferably no," she replied honestly. "But I wouldn't have any expectations."

Stefan scoffed.

"I'm being serious," Elena argued. "Let me prove it," taking him by the hand she led him away to the nearest storage room or unoccupied closet she could find. The thrill of being caught only hastened her steps.

Elena may have thought they were making a quiet escape but someone saw them.

::::

NEVER HAVING BEEN part of any league of extraordinary gentlemen, thinking himself a lone wolf a good portion of his life, it wasn't always easy for Damon to humble himself for the greater good. Five drinks, a stomach running on empty, and a boulder on his shoulder he couldn't dislodge regardless of the attempts to remove it, he sulked in the shadows.

Bonnie had gone off with Mason after his speech who said he needed to consult with her about something leaving Damon to his devices. He had already made his rounds, talked enough shop and dallied in enough perfunctory ass kissing he felt like he just pulled an eight-hour shift.

But he couldn't stop thinking about what Bonnie said. About how he need to talk to Stefan.

Sighing, Damon pushed away from the wall and went in search of his little brother who would either ignore him or only reply with monosyllabic responses. If they left tonight without making one another black and blue, Damon would call that a victory.

He sidestepped and inched his way through the crowd, constantly on the lookout for that famously styled auburn hair when he plowed into someone or someone plowed into him.

Something cold, liquid, and sticky splashed on his chest, arm, drops even splashed on his neck and chin. Eyes closing, his nose was assaulted with the smell of lemon lime. Damon gritted his teeth.

He first checked the damage that had been done to his tux. Crystal drops of what was probably club soda soaked into his tuxedo jacket.

Next he was staring at a wide-eyed young woman. She slapped a hand over her mouth then lowered it looking far more mortified than Damon.

"I am _so_ sorry. Ohmygod I'm so sorry!"

Damon flicked his soaked arm in a poor attempt to dry it off. "Don't worry about it," he grumbled and side stepped the woman who moved with him.

"Please, let me…maybe I can pay to have your blazer dry cleaned?"

"Like I said, don't worry about it. It's not a big deal."

The woman frantically rummaged through her purse possibly looking for a napkin. "I'm such a spaz. A klutz really."

Damon once again tried to skirt around the woman but she once more impeded him. Were they dancing? He felt his patience slipping, and it wouldn't be long before the New York in him slipped out and he hurt this chick's feelings.

She came up with a napkin and fussily attempted to pat the wet spot on Damon's jacket. "I knew I should have waited before getting something to drink but I was so thirsty, you know. Dehydrated. I'm not the most coordinated person in a crowd of people."

Damon pulled away from her. "You don't need to do this. I'm good. But I really have to go and you're holding me up."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Of course an important man like you has places to go."

Damon frowned at the odd comment. "Right."

"But…"

" _Lady_ ," Damon bit out. The friendliness in his face and tone, gone. "Step out of my way please."

The woman's chin quivered but she jutted it up proudly, and stepped aside. Damon flounced away now in search of a bathroom. The woman rocked on her heels, and smiled down into her empty glass. When she lifted her head, fury blazed from her eyes.

::::

THEY FELL OUT of the utility closet, Elena giggling, Stefan zipping up his pants. But the giggles ended and spines stiffened at the sight of the person standing on the opposite side of the hall ostensibly waiting for them.

"Unbelievable," Rebekah shook her head.

"Bex!" Elena squeaked.

"Dammit," Stefan whispered.

The blonde tapped her manicured nails on her bare arms. "Your nipple is about to tell the world hello, Elena."

Gasping, she turned sideways and hurriedly tried to fix her attire.

"Let me make sure I have all of this straight," Rebekah began. "Your wife, excuse me _ex_ -wife and brother are fucking and now you," she pointed at Elena, "her supposed best friend is fucking her ex-husband. Do none of you have any fucking self-control?"

"Hey," Stefan planted himself in the middle, shielding Elena who frantically tried to finger comb her bob into submission. "None of what's happening is any of your gotdamn business, Rebekah."

"Sure it wouldn't be any of my business if you four didn't flaunt what you were doing out in the open. I realize perfectly," she lifted a hand to silence Stefan, "you all are adults and can make whatever mistakes and decisions you want. I just hope you realize what it's going to cost you in the end. If you're fine with that," she shrugged and let her thought trail off.

"We're not doing anything wrong," Elena protested.

Rebekah held their stares for a moment before walking away, but stopped and faced Elena whose cheeks were bright red. "I do hope you know you're a revenge fuck."

When Rebekah pivoted to leave, she nearly tripped over her feet because standing less than five feet away was Bonnie Bennett.

Four pairs of eyes widened, four hearts skipped a beat, but only one person's blood pressure skyrocketed.

Two of the three people crowding the hall tried to reach for Bonnie but she was focused on the third individual. If she had to explain what was going on inside of her body, Bonnie would describe it as having her nerves frayed open and losing every pint of blood. She didn't ask anyone to repeat what he or she said because she heard enough. And what she missed she could fill in the context. Elena and Stefan's rumpled appearance spoke for itself. Bonnie backed away slowly, turned, and jetted off.

"Bonnie! Wait!"

She didn't. Bonnie kept going. Kept plowing through the crowd as politely as she could.

Unfortunately her arm was caught and she was snatched backwards and spun around. Bluish-green eyes burned into hers. Bonnie wrestled to free herself. She hated this feeling coiling inside of her because it shouldn't fucking exist. She shouldn't give a damn about what went on in Stefan's life anymore. It was none of her business. Bonnie knew that but feeling it was an entirely different matter.

"Listen to me," Stefan intoned.

"I don't care who you fuck, Stefan!" she said that louder than intended. Heads turned in her direction. Bonnie felt steam coming out of her ears in sheer embarrassment.

"Try lying to someone who doesn't know you as well as I do."

Across the room, _she_ watched with rapt attention, twisting her napkin into a pretzel. All night she had been waiting for them to have a moment, to acknowledge one another and it was finally, _finally_ happening! She bounced on her toes a little wishing she could draw closer to hear what was being said, but she wouldn't chance it. So she would just have to make due with reading their lips and body language. The way they were so close together, the way Stefan held her arm to his chest it was damn near like they were posing for the cover of one of those silly romance novels; she grinned and felt dizzy with happiness.

"Are you using Elena?" Bonnie swallowed hard.

"No."

"Now, who's lying?"

"I'm. Not. Using. Her." We're using each other, he didn't add.

"It doesn't matter. It honestly doesn't. I want you to be happy in whatever form that comes in. That's the truth," vivid green eyes searched his. "Goodbye, Stefan."

And that goodbye had a ring of finality to it he had never heard before.

 _She_ watched as Bonnie pulled her arm away and, what the hell? Stefan was letting her go?! He was just going to stand there like a little bitch and let her go back to…Her eyes flew across the room where she saw the dark-haired bastard leave the bathroom. Her face contorted with rage as she saw Bonnie practically fly in the motherfucker's arms.

"Disloyal bitch," she hissed venomously.

:::

Bonnie said the bare minimum on the car ride home. Her phone buzzed constantly with a stream of calls from Rebekah who gave up after three unanswered calls, and Elena who left voicemails and text messages Bonnie forewent listening to.

"What's wrong?" Damon asked the back of her head since she was busy staring out the window. "Did some asshole say something to you about us? Fuck them, Bonnie."

"No, that's not…it."

"Then what?"

How could she put into words she still gave a damn what her ex-husband did with his genitalia? Back in February when Stefan admitted to possibly falling in love with someone else (what happened with that, she had no idea) Bonnie may have experienced a pinch of jealously, but it had been fleeting because she, at the time, had been miserable over losing Damon. Seven months later Bonnie felt she should have been emotionally quarantined. Unfortunately, knowing Stefan had moved on with her best friend irked the hell out of her.

She couldn't say that to Damon without it leading to an argument, and without her sounding like a hypocrite. Bonnie was extremely tired of arguing about a relationship that needed to stay dead and buried. She had to make a choice. They couldn't linger in this weird limbo any longer.

Slender brown fingers wrapped around his pale, meatier ones. Damon stared at their conjoined hands before bringing those marble sized blue irises to his girlfriend.

"The reason I'm so quiet," Bonnie revealed, "I'm saying goodbye. I'm saying goodbye to a lot of things because New York is starting to look really appealing."

He couldn't contain his smile if you bribed him with a lifetime supply of bourbon. Damon was showing all his teeth. "Really? How appealing are we talking? You'll be ready to move in three months appealing, or you'll be ready by next weekend appealing?"

Maybe she took for granted how badly Damon wanted her with him in New York, disregarding it because she had loose ends to tie up. Yet seeing the excitement ripple through him that she was honestly considering relocating, made her feel wanted but also a little ashamed. Ashamed that it took her so long to see how patient Damon had been while she stubbornly held on to the past.

In all honestly Bonnie would need more than three months, but for Damon and for herself she'd consolidate the time and compromise with, "Give me until the end of next month."

Damon pulled her closer and slanted his mouth over hers, giving Bonnie a smacking kiss. "I'll start putting some of my crap in storage or selling it to make room for you."

"I want I live in my own spot," she busted his bubble.

"Hun?" Damon's grin vanished.

"I'm uprooting my life for the second time in my life. The first was when I studied abroad to earn my master's. I've lived with roommates then I got married, so I've never really lived on my own while I'm in a good place. I need that experience. I want it. You're getting me in the same state and city. Let me have my own space."

Sighing, Damon slumped against the leather seat. He bit his tongue. The vision in his head was he and Bonnie living under the same roof in New York, not her living in another borough. But and he hated buts, he would take this as a big step in their relationship and one that moved them closer to the end goal. Already he was mentally planning. They would live apart for a year and after that year he'd pop the question, and then there'd be no way for her to get rid of him. They would be together. Until death did them part, and Damon had already made up his mind they were dying on the same day.

"All right," he said. "But don't say anything if you wake up to discover I've moved in little by little."

"Freeloader."

He kissed her again. "You're not going to regret this. I promise. Driver," he addressed the man behind the wheel. "Make this left. I'm in the mood for Szechuan Garden."

Forty-five minutes later, the town car parallel parked outside of their high rise. Damon tipped their driver and ushered Bonnie and their takeout inside.

While they waited for the elevator, Damon got an urgent text from his assistant. "Dammit, I forgot a file in my car that Alaric needed me to look over and get back to him asap."

The elevator arrived on the lobby floor.

"Head on up," he gently nudged Bonnie on the lift. "I'll be there in a minute."

Their floor, like clockwork, was quiet. She unlocked the door, stumbling inside. Bonnie dumped the plastic bag filled with noodles, rice, and chicken on the kitchen bar along with her purse. Her stomach growled impatiently and as anxious as she was to tear into her meal, Bonnie wanted to get comfortable first.

Humming, she made her way to the bedroom and flicked on the bedside lamp.

If fear could manifest itself outside of a living body, Bonnie pictured it would probably look like crystals forming or frost taking over a surface. The coldness started at her feet and rushed through her, mummifying Bonnie into one solid mass of immobility.

The saliva in her mouth dried up. She didn't know what that was, if it were dead or alive. When it reacted to the light coming on she got her answer and she was gaping into a pair of reptilian eyes.

Cottonmouth, diamondback, or copperhead? Bonnie had no idea what type of snake it was just the fact it was a fucking _snake_! Curled up in the center of the bed.

She took a step backward and the snake reacted again.

"God…help…"

Its tongue lashed out to taste her scent on the air. The sound of its scales sliding across and over its body filled her ears. Heart beating wildly, Bonnie pivoted on the balls of her feet to run.

"DAMON!"

:::

Parking garages were scary places. Left you feeling boxed in, left you feeling like you were being watched and followed. Damon made quick work of unlocking his car to retrieve his satchel. Once he had it in his possession he slammed the car door closed.

Funny how situational awareness only kicked in just seconds before you were attacked.

 _Bam!_

An object definitively made of metal cracked into the back of his skull. Too shocked to register the pain that burst as if an incendiary went off inside his cranium, Damon instinctively reached for his head.

 _Whack!_

He was hit across the face this time. Lights exploded. Blinding lights. Blood poured and he dropped to the ground, knees and the palms of his hands taking the brunt of the fall. His satchel flew out of his hands, papers scattered. His eyes rolled around in his head, but there was no mistaking the sound of a chamber being cocked.

Cold metal was shoved into his temple. Damon went still and for a second almost lost control of his bladder.

Blinking to clear his vision, a masked person loomed above him. He vaguely recognized the mask. It was from the movie _V for Vendetta._

"W-what do you…" he stuttered.

 _Remember, remember the fifth_ _of November._

"You have twenty-four hours to leave Bonnie," the masked assailant spoke, but the sound of their voice was distorted thanks to a modulator. "If you don't…I'll put a bullet in your gotdam head. But in case you think I'm joking." The gloved finger compressed the trigger.

 _The fifth_ _of November is Stefan's birthday_ , Damon thought as and frowned. That's a stupid last thought to have.

 **A/N: Thoughts? I really do appreciate you guys reading and reviewing. Until next time, kittens.**


	5. Crush

**New York; November—2015**

 _Clink, tap, sigh_ those were the sounds that melded with conversation which ebbed and flowed like the water being poured into her crystal glass. She muttered her thanks to the waiter for his prompt service.

Candlelight, big band music, peals of laughter, the smell of entrees prepared by a renowned chef massaged some of the kinks out of her body. From her half-lidded gaze anyone would think she had a buzz going. Far from it. She was mellow in order to make herself invisible.

Work had been tedious, hell, flat out boring and yet satisfying in a way Bonnie Bennett couldn't really describe. Prior to uprooting her life, finding employment had been tantamount. One of Bonnie's colleagues put in a good word for her with the dean of the psychology department at a small but thriving liberal arts college. Teaching was the last thing Bonnie actually wanted to do, but if she was going to makeover her life, she couldn't just stop with a housing change. She aced all three interviews, passed the licensing exam, got hired. Now she taught a general studies Intro to Psych course three times a week. The rest of her time was spent rebuilding her private practice clientele.

Bonnie jumped. This time the touch was deliberate as she was positive the other "accidental" touches had been as well. It had been a knee that definitely nudged her thigh.

Gritting her teeth, Bonnie looked to her left, at the culprit whose attention was rapt on the reason they were all gathered at Jacopo's on a Wednesday night. Her colleague Dr. Kellan Cavendish. He taught Research Methods and was a known manwhore. Sure, by any standard he was nice to look at, but his beady blue eyes always unnerved Bonnie who moved her leg out of his range, sat up straighter.

Since she joined the faculty of Vergennes College he harbored something of a crush on her that Bonnie pretended didn't exist. She hadn't been with that many men but she knew when someone was into her, wanted to fuck her, or wanted to be with her. Heath showed classic symptoms. Popping up at her office uninvited just to "check in". Touching the small of her back, or arm, or brushing against her any time they were in the lounge. Giving her looks that left little question as to the nature of his thoughts. Getting an attitude with her whenever he caught wind she had gone out on a date with her boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Bonnie spaced out again. It had been happening off and on all day, better yet, for the last eight weeks. She had done a good job concealing her inner turmoil so her colleagues wouldn't ask probing questions. They could compare notes about students, but most craved details about how someone's life was imploding. Needless to say they would have had a field day with hers.

Even after working at the college since fall of 2014 Bonnie was still considered the new kid on the block. She understood the importance of making sure the line in the sand was clearly drawn. Bonnie was friendly with her coworkers, but inviting them into her personal business, she just would not do. No one had been intrusive, harassing her for details about her life in Virginia, but there was a clear sense of community, a bubble Bonnie hadn't burst her way into and she had no immediate plans to change that. She did procure one ally because she understood it was important to be seen as a team player. Unfortunately her ally couldn't make tonight's dinner as the psych department celebrated the assistant dean's 46th birthday.

"Boyfriend being a douche?"

A slightly accentuated baritone voice broke into her thoughts. Bonnie slighted Kellan with a look before returning to her untouched pasta.

Kellan leaned his elbows on the table, drew close enough to Bonnie she could smell his cologne. It wasn't unpleasant but it made her nose wrinkle all the same.

"I only ask because he's not here for one, and you've barely touched your food. Haven't had a glass of wine or champagne, and you've barely muttered five words tonight. Your students worship the ground you walk on, at least that's the word on the street, so I know none of the little punks are giving you trouble."

"Dr. Cavendish," Bonnie rarely called him by his first name wanting to establish they were nothing more than colleagues. Not friends. Not anything that could transcend into something more or illicit. "Thanks for the concern but I'm fine."

"Yes, you are but I can tell something is weighing on you. Despite what you may think of me, _Bonnie_ ," he stressed, "I am a good listener. If you wanna talk my door is _always_ open to you."

Bonnie glanced at him and just as she suspected he was leering like a hungry coyote. "Thanks but I already have a therapist," she said dryly.

Kellan chuckled and finished off the rest of his beer. "You never let up on the façade, do you?"

"What façade?"

"You know," he nudged her with his elbow mostly as an excuse to get even closer.

"No, I don't know but I'm pretty sure I can guess what you mean and on that note," Bonnie tossed her napkin on her plate and scooted her chair back. "Excuse me. I'll be right back," she said loud enough to garner a few curious looks but no one questioned where she was going.

Kellan lightly grabbed her wrist. Bonnie's nostrils flared and she added an extra dash of wrath into her annoyed expression. Kellan swallowed and wisely let her go. She bent to whisper, " _Touch_ me again and I'll knee you in the gotdamn balls."

Beady blue eyes blinked, cheeks reddened, and then Kellan reared his head back and laughed. "I knew there was a little hellcat in you."

"Is everything all right over there?"

Bonnie looked at Dr. Raquel Hawthorne, a hard-nosed woman of now forty-six years. She reminded Bonnie of former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. Raquel and pretty much everyone was aware of Kellan's hard on for anything pretty and under the age of thirty-five. Though no complaints had ever been filed against the professor who sometimes grew too familiar with his students and female counterparts, his reputation preceded him.

Kellan cleared his throat. He might get away with a lot but he knew he couldn't cross Dr. Hawthorne who basically held the chancellor in the palm of her hand.

"Everything is fine, Raquel," he waved her off as he visibly shrunk in his seat, cheeks heating for a different reason.

"I wasn't speaking to _you_ ," she retorted brusquely and looked squarely at Bonnie, brow arched.

"There's no issue. Just going to step out for a minute. Excuse me."

Bonnie sighed and plopped down on one of the couches in the seating area of the spacious bathroom. She pinched the bridge of her nose wondering when the night would end. Wondering when she'd be given leave to go home, crash into bed, and stare at the ceiling. She didn't want to be here. The more Bonnie thought about it, she didn't mean here in this restaurant but here in New York. It still wasn't home to her. She thought for five seconds it could be but then…

"Shit," her nose tingled and she felt tears coming.

The door opened and Bonnie straightened, wiped at any tears that may have fallen unbeknownst her. The click of heels across the tile told her whoever just stepped into the bathroom wasn't headed for a stall but right towards her.

Raquel stood in the entrance way that separated the stalls from the seating area. Dr. Hawthorne was her boss, but being only a handful of black women on staff at Vergennes College, there was an unspoken kinship between the two women. Raquel in her Michael Kors plum suit and sensible heels, her classic bob and shrewd dark almond eyes assessed Bonnie in an eerily similar fashion as her grandmother used to do. Bonnie straightened her spine even more.

"You would tell me if Kellan's being an inappropriate asshole, yes?"

That didn't sound like a question to Bonnie but she nodded. "Of course. Would anything actually be done about it is the question."

"I can't speak for others but I can speak for myself and say, I don't play. Though this department isn't entirely mine to run how I see fit, my word does count for something. Kellan has been treading on very thin ice and one word, he's out. Yet I sense Kellan and his…overly attentive demeanor isn't the reason you've been…off the last few weeks."

Shit, if she noticed who else noticed, Bonnie's stomach rolled. "It's nothing, Dr. Hawthorne. Just personal growing pains I try my best not to let affect me while I'm working."

"You're not still interviewing for the job, Bonnie. I do care about the overall health of my colleagues. If something is going on…I don't need total disclosure but _some_ insight helps."

Bonnie nibbled a corner of her lip. It would be so easy to spill her guts because she knew Raquel was opening the floor for her to expunge what had been eating her inside for weeks. Could she do it though? The number of people Bonnie had to confide in dwindled once news broke she traded one brother for the other—that was the consensus. People didn't care about the circumstances surrounding her relationship with Damon. They just salivated over the salaciousness of it. She couldn't really step foot in her hometown without generating stares and whispers. And things certainly weren't helped the night Damon was attacked and she was nearly bitten by a poisonous snake left by someone obsessed with her personal life on a psychotic level.

Even now, remembering that night and the fallout made bile rise up Bonnie's esophagus. The loss of friendships, moving to a foreign state and acclimating to its politics and culture, sublimating how she saw herself as a person and a woman, Bonnie did her best to juggle the changes admirably. Yet something inside of her just would not let her be fully engaged and happy.

Fear that the worst was not over?

While she had been contemplating how much she wanted to reveal or if she'd reveal anything at all, Raquel had moved to sit across from her on the other plush chair.

Bonnie snapped out of it.

"This stays between us," she stared at her boss in all seriousness.

"You have my word."

Bonnie's lips separated but slammed together when the door opened. She held her breath and released it once seeing it wasn't a fellow instructor who sauntered to a toilet. She met Raquel's unwavering gaze. "I took a pregnancy test last night."

Raquel felt her heart speed then settle at the news. Her eyes of their own volition fell to Bonnie's abdomen.

"But before that my boyfriend and I broke up. We've been broken up for the last two months. He came over and I took the test and…"

"Yes?" Raquel was already going through the mental process of having to find an alternate as Bonnie took maternity leave or a new hire if she decided to outright quit.

"I'm…not pregnant."

Raquel released a relieved sigh but then admonished herself because clearly from Bonnie's crestfallen expression that hadn't been the outcome she had hoped for. She felt saying sorry would be disingenuous, yet muttering some other trite platitude wouldn't suffice either.

"Disappointed?" Raquel asked despite it being more than obvious.

"Yes and no and that's why I feel bad." Yes, she would have loved to be pregnant, to carry a child and become a mother. However none of that would fix what had been wrong in her relationship with Damon. That was the crux of Bonnie's sadness and her continued funk. "I'm relieved but disappointed. It's not that I feel some urgency to have a child or children by a certain age or anything like that. Or that it would interfere with my career goals. It's…my ex…he wants to get back together regardless of the results and…"

"You don't," Raquel surmised.

Bonnie couldn't voice it, merely nodded. "I love him so much but…"

"Love isn't enough."

Picking her nails, Bonnie shook her head, "Sometimes our own personal shortcomings chip away at love. Sometimes you feel…you don't deserve to be so happy because of your past. And the last thing you want to do is drain the happiness out of your partner because of your constant struggle to be happy with yourself."

Raquel murmured noncommittally. She didn't know that much about Bonnie beyond her observations, and from those observations she abstracted that she probably spent more time in her head than necessary, but she rather have an overthinker than someone who didn't think at all on her staff. Yet the most telling thing Raquel noticed about Bonnie she had a selflessness about her that could be, based on perception, admiring or exasperating.

"If you're taking the time to figure things out then you're making the right choice, Bonnie. It may feel innate in you to do something that makes someone else happy, but you can't neglect yourself in the process. If you think you two are better off not being together, then there's a reason for that decision and that decision shouldn't be compromised."

"In the moment something can feel like it was the right decision and then later feel like a mistake."

A particular decision she made years ago flashed in her head that Bonnie swept aside.

"True. But you'll only know that _with time_."

Bonnie absorbed those words. She'd wait until she was alone to break down what Raquel said. She switched topics. "Are you enjoying your birthday dinner?"

"My salmon was overcooked and my potatoes were runny but hey…the champagne's good and the school is footing the bill so I'm happy."

The two women shared a polite laugh.

"Thank you for checking up on me."

"No problem, Bonnie. I'll give you a minute to freshen up then I want you back at the table but seated next to me."

"Yes, ma'am."

Alone, Bonnie's hands dropped to her belly. Her muscles contracted and relaxed and contracted once more. She might have been full of food but had never felt hollower on the inside.

::::

Awolnation's "Sail" roared through the brightly lit private gym as he grunted along with the auto-tuned sung words physically pushing his body to its max. Exercising was a body sculpting form of discipline, and helped to center the riotous thoughts in his head that bludgeoned and backstabbed one another for attention.

Sweat trickled down from Damon's hairline, wet his sleeveless tank, and made his loose fitted gray jogging pants stick to his ass. He didn't give a shit how he looked, just wanted to trample down on his feelings of lack of control, rein in it before he did something irreversibly stupid.

Wouldn't be the first time.

The loud clang of the free weights hitting the floor after he did his reps momentarily brought Damon back to the present. He was the only person utilizing this space—just the way he preferred it, and though there were mirrors all around giving him a perfect three-sixty view of himself, he avoided actually making eye contact.

Last night stuck on repeat in his mind.

The reason they broke up, to him at least, was far less important than the fact they were far from done with each other. Damon had catalogued each of Bonnie's responses to his nearness, down to the sound of his voice. She struggled with the same issues as he did, but of course she had far more restraint when it came to ignoring the body's cry for physical closeness. Their attraction was just as palpable as it was the day they shucked the blinders and admitted they wanted each other. Damon had reached that conclusion far earlier than Bonnie and tempered it best he could until she came around. If only she could get past the past, forgive herself because he knew she hadn't done it, they could rekindle what they had. Get back the time they've lost and rebuild the connection.

But Bonnie was so terribly stubborn, a trait he had found endearing and cute, but now it pissed him the fuck off. What would it take for Bonnie to allow herself to be happy?

Damon had the answer and he _hated_ it.

Absently, he rubbed at the scar on his left temple. A memento left behind of the scariest moment of his life. Being cold cocked from behind, pistol-whipped, and literally thinking he was about to die, Damon learned just how loud a gunshot could be. The bullet missed him by a foot according to the police ballistics report. The threat that was issued, Damon ignored. _Leave Bonnie or I'll put a bullet in your head._ He wasn't going to let a psycho come between him and his woman.

The one thing he could thank the person for (outside of not changing his mind about putting a bullet _in_ his head) was their actions hastened Bonnie's move to New York. Damon wouldn't hear of leaving her behind while an unhinged, obsessed sociopath roamed the streets believing themselves to be some kind of guardian angel or Cupid. Fuck that.

Damon's stomach soured. His attacker was still free. Mystic Falls PD had come up with few leads and the case had gone cold. But he never stopped searching faces, being weary of entering vacant or dark places, never stopped worrying. And after last night, waiting for the results of that home pregnancy test…Damon had been two seconds from interviewing former Marines and Green Berets who did private security.

His fingers moved to his forehead. Fatherhood. Whoa. Damon couldn't adequately describe the rollercoaster his emotions had taken and had yet to really settle down. He'd heard that most men didn't feel like a father until they held their child. For him, all it had taken was just the _possibility_ Bonnie was carrying their child for the connection to be made. And to think it had been right there and like sand slipped through his fingers. A negative result. His sperm had not fertilized her egg. The vacant look on Bonnie's face after they checked the test and read the instructions on the box carefully. The anxiety that rushed through his head so quickly he almost blacked out. The numbness that took over and finally acceptance. Damon had wanted to say the words when he called his brother to wish him a Happy Birthday that he had missed a chance to be a father by a day a cycle, he couldn't really say. He had just wanted to get it out, voice it, put it out into the atmosphere.

His phone started ringing and Damon nearly broke his leg trying to get to it as fast as he could. Reading the name of the caller, Damon sighed heavily in disappointment.

"Yes, Caroline," he barked into the mouthpiece.

"Good morning to you, too," she sniffed at his less-than-friendly greeting. "I just got an email blast. The deal with Wharton and Associates is off."

"What do you mean it's off? We're just days away from finalizing it."

"And now we won't be. The CEO was arrested this morning for embezzlement and mail fraud. So PR is drafting a press statement right now announcing our withdrawal of support and business. Just thought you'd like to know."

Damon cursed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Months of haggling and delays and for what? Shit."

"I know, sir."

His eyes moved back and forth across the carpet. Hearing that news was disappointing but hardly anything that would ruin the rest of his day. However, the answer to this question might. "Are there…any other messages?"

"No, sir."

Damon's shoulders slumped. "If anything else happens, keep me posted."

"Will do. I'll see you at the office."

He ended the call and realized someone had joined him in the gym. It was one his neighbors obviously but one he ran into a couple of times when he first moved into the building. One he had shared a drink with one foggy night. What was her name again?

"Ah, long time no see," she tossed her towel on a bench and stretched her arms above her head before finger combing her blonde hair into a ponytail. "Where have you been hiding?"

"Haven't been hiding. I've just been busy."

"Right. Who isn't busy in this city? Should I even bother to ask if you remember my name or should I reintroduce myself?"

Damon snorted. "It begins with an L," he was guessing. Most of the women he met their names began with an L, A, or K. There was only one B though.

"Very good. Now what are the rest of the letters? I'm teasing. Can you spot me?"

"I was just about to leave."

"Pretty please? I've been derelict in my exercise regime. I totally blame it on binge watching shows on Netflix. Just fifteen minutes if you can spare them," she bent over at the hip, her generous breasts in danger of falling out of her sport top.

He didn't take the bait.

"Sorry, I really gotta go. I'll see you later, L."

"It's Lila," she winked. "Lila Chastain."

Damon tossed his towel and water bottle into his bag, made sure he had his keys and phone. "Nice to meet you…again."

She beamed and began adjusting the row machine. "You sure you _have_ to go?" and her voice dipped down into an inviting timbre that probably got her, her way more often than not.

Damon imagined she didn't get turned down a lot, if ever. She was pampered and plucked, maybe even nipped and tucked, which there was nothing wrong with that. But he had bedded dozens of women like her. The kind who dated no one who made less than $250,000 a year, the kind of who believed they had the Ferrari of vaginas. She was sexy and girl-next-door. She was everything he no longer got hard for.

"Money calls and I have to go make some."

"Understandable. Guess this means I'll have no one to look down my top as I burn the calories off my near perfect ass. Woe is me."

Damon chuckled, collected his belongings and made tracks towards the door.

"Something tells me we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon, Damon Salvatore."

Damon paused at the door. Stared at his buxom neighbor over his shoulder. She now straddled the row machine.

"See, I haven't forgotten your name. It's fate."

:::::

Hands braced on a balance bar, eyes peering out toward the city seeing dark figures lumber along the avenue, at the first sound of the piano key, Bonnie's head fell back.

One of the things she loved about New York was being a nightcrawler or early riser wasn't shunned. She could even take a dance class at five in the morning though most would probably balk at willingly getting up that early to put your body through a bruising routine. The city was overwhelming in size compared to Mystic Falls. Loud, bright, congested, cold, and unforgiving so she needed to find a way to make it small, warm, and personable.

Besides, she wanted a life outside of being Damon's girlfriend when she first moved here. She had drilled it into her clients' heads for years how they had to establish their identity, find their purpose. What kind of a therapist would she be if she didn't live what she taught?

She found this haven by word of mouth. Her instructor was a former Cowboys cheerleader, and had danced professionally with the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater. Tasha Byrd, all long toffee limbs and kinky curls with bright brown eyes. She was positive, hyper, but also a perfectionist. Sometimes, when requested, she taught a few signature moves from her days as a cheerleader, and if you were brave enough, the legendary jump split.

Bonnie declined leaping in the air to land in a split. She was brave but not that damn brave.

Her mouth moved and lip-synced the lyrics to the song that accompanied the music. The last time she stood in this studio sweating out her perm, her thoughts had been occluded with fear of the unknown and jotting down every minute change with her body from the physical to the hormonal. Worrying ceaselessly if there was a fetus growing in her uterus.

This time around, she was merely here for the sheer pleasure of dancing, of manipulating her body in ways to tell a story Bonnie couldn't put into words the conventional way. An outlet to bare her soul without racking up property damage in the process.

"Focus! Get out of your head!" Tasha yelled and Bonnie felt that was specifically aimed at her. "Whatever you're going through, incorporate it in your movement. Carry each move out to the bitter end. Make it an extension of yourself!"

Bonnie leapt in the air executing a jete before landing in a crouch on bended knee. Snapped her head up, and wound those hips while slowly rising to both feet.

Beads of sweat formed on her skin, rolled down and soaked into her sports bra and leggings.

"Make me believe you!" Tasha clapped her hands as she paced the room. "Attack the steps like you only have five minutes left to live…Suck in those ribs…finish the movement."

Bonnie absorbed the criticisms and hit each count, each move with all the power her petite body could generate. The more she danced it seemed the angrier she became; though if questioned why she was angry she wouldn't be able to give a solid answer. It would seem dance brought out the dormant aggression in her.

" _One,_ two-three-four- _five_ -six-seven- _eight._ And a one-two-three-four, come on, ladies and gentlemen! Show me you're awake this morning!" Tasha bellowed.

The mirrors began to fog and sweat, the temperature rose along with the pungent scent of perspiration. The studio was becoming a sauna even with a couple windows cracked open and the fans blowing.

There came a freestyle part in the routine. Bonnie said fuck being timid and holding back. If she couldn't be free here in this space then where could she be free? So she let it go. Let the false pregnancy alarm go. Let the disappointment of being unable to have a stable relationship go. Let the second-guessing, losses, and failures go.

The music drew to a close. Heavy breathing, the shuffle of feet along the hardwood floor, giggles, and murmuring filled the humid room. When Bonnie blinked she noticed several people staring at her, stupefied.

"Gurl, I don't know who the hell you were thinking about, but dayum! Lucky _or_ poor bastard," one of her classmates cackled. Others joined in.

Cheeks burning, Bonnie accepted accolades, snatched up her towel and mopped her face. She headed to the corner of the room where she stashed her belongings and donned her socks, Uggs, and shrugged into her fashionable pea coat. Most of the others congregated into their clichés and circles, others crowded Tasha asked for tips, criticism, selfies. Normally Bonnie would try to stick around afterward to socialize, but today wasn't feeling up to it. She waved goodbye to those who waved at her, thanked her instructor, and hit the door.

The bitter cold air slapped her and what otherwise would have caused Bonnie to recoil she embraced it. Her skin was flushed and her heart still pounded from the strenuous session. She pulled out her iPod and froze. In her peripheral she saw a very recognizable outline. Lifting her head, Bonnie looked across the street.

Damon.

 _Dressed in all black_ , he was the guy you wish you dated in high school to come whisk you away in his vintage American muscle car in front of the bitches who hated you. _Scarf draped around his neck_ , he was the guy you hoped would crash your study session in college for a quickie and take you out for a burger afterward. _Takeout coffee cup in his hand_ , he was the guy you dated for a year or two and decided he was yours for life.

They stared unabashed at one another. It was too late to pretend she hadn't seen him. It was too late to act like she hadn't missed him. Someone had to make the decision to cross the street. The decision was made when Bonnie heard a couple of her classmates refer to Damon as "Zaddy" and "Cum muffin". She waited for a car or two to pass before trotting across the street, clutching the strap of her _Pink_ tote bag and purse tightly.

Her steps slowed to a crawl before eventually stopping a foot away from Damon who never once looked away from her. He drank her in. Hair piled into a fishtail braid, minimal makeup she was grossly beautiful to him. Damon counted her freckles to make sure they were still there, inhaled as much of her heady scent as he could knowing their time together would be cut short because Bonnie would find a reason she needed to be somewhere else right this second. He extended the takeout cup towards her. Bonnie eyed it skeptically. He usually got her favorite coffee drink wrong. She suspected he did so on purpose because he found her being pissed he couldn't remember something as simple as her favorite caffeinated drink—cute.

"Thank you," she accepted the cup, took a sip. Her tongue didn't automatically revolt.

"Did I get it right this time?"

"Close."

"Needs an extra shot of expresso?"

"And a dab of hazelnut."

Damon winked. "I'll remember that next time."

Bonnie picked at the lid of the cup. "What are you doing here?"

"It's been a week."

"Yes, it has been."

Damon rocked on his heels. "How are you?"

Wishing standing in front of you wasn't this hard. Out loud Bonnie said, "Busy. Finals are coming up. Research papers are due and everyone is scrambling to keep things together."

Damon didn't care about that. He wanted to know how she was emotionally and Bonnie damn well knew that. She was trying to maintain post breakup boundaries. They were blocking foot traffic on the sidewalk and Damon lightly touched her elbow to maneuver them out of the way. Sucking in a breath, he stuffed his fists in his coat pockets.

"How are you?" Bonnie asked.

"Good. Things could be better. Much better."

"How's work?" Bonnie pivoted and started making her way down the avenue toward her subway station. She had a ten o'clock class to teach. Damon fell in step beside her.

"Work is the fucking same as it always is. There was a bit of a PR mini-disaster that thankfully I don't have too much to do with. Other than that, everything's copasetic. I have some vacation coming up."

"Made any plans?"

"They were scrapped," he frowned, annoyed she wasn't asking the right questions. "I want to know how you really are, Bonnie."

"I told you," she sipped her drink and fought back a grimace.

"You gave me the standard response."

"I don't know what else you want me to say. We had a long discussion about you know what last week."

"That was last week. This week is different."

"How are you?" Bonnie glanced up at him.

"Still disappointed," he met her gaze.

"Same," Bonnie muttered after a considerable pause. "I haven't really stopped thinking about it."

"Neither have I." He got an idea.

Bonnie knew that look. She braced herself.

He tried not to smile too broadly. "You're swamped with work, right? You need a night to unwind. Dinner. You and me. Tonight."

"Da—"

"Just as friends," he hastily added on.

Bonnie casually sipped her drink, observed as an Impala nearly rear-ended a delivery truck that had to make a sudden stop. Horns blared. The driver of the Impala stuck her head out the window to shout obscenities at the delivery truck driver who returned her sentiments.

"C'mon, Bonnie. There are plenty of people who remain good friends with their exes."

Her brow furrowed. "Really? Like who?"

A corner of Damon's eyes shrank. "I can't think of anyone I know personally but I know they're out there."

"Or they exist on television where they have no choice but to talk to one another. Limited cast members and all that."

"So you're saying you and I can never be friends because of our history?"

"I'm not saying that. But I don't like lying to myself either. Or pretending. It's too soon for us to act like we don't have this complicated history to be friends _only_ as a poor excuse to be around each other."

"Then let's get rid of the excuse," Damon reached for her shoulder stopping her from taking another step. "I still want you, Bonnie just like I know you still want me. Deny _it_."

Bonnie blinked rapidly and her pulse throbbed in her neck.

"Deny it, Bonnie."

"I…"

Damon's phone buzzed, interrupting the moment. "Shit." He was going to ignore it but had been expecting an important phone call. He dug it out of his back pocket.

Bonnie saw him blanch. Damon's head flew up and he stared at Bonnie with such deep uncertainty it was unnerving.

"Who is it?" she asked.

Damon could only mouth the name.

Stefan.

 **A/N: So now we're back in the present time. Bamon is still broken up and there is no baby on the way. I know some were hoping for a little Bamonette, apologies. I will say I thought about it for five seconds but realized the story would be over and there's so much more story left to tell. The person who briefly terrorized Elena, Damon, and Bonnie is still on the loose and well…I hope you guys are still curious to see how everything unfolds, comes together, or gets even more blown apart. Thank you for reading! Reviews=love.**

 **Oh and you probably won't care but just want to let you know I made up the college where Bonnie teaches. I don't know ish about NYC ;)**


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